Get You In
by Moon Raven2
Summary: Eleven years after she left, Olivia Gable returns to Charming and Juice Ortiz. Eleven years is a long time, and after a bitter goodbye Juice has spent it trying to forget her. His fury and his coldness push her into someone else's arms, but first love dies hard, and neither of them gives up easy. (sequel to In the Blood, Juice/OC highschool!au)
1. Road Trip

Welp. I guess I decided to publish here after all. :) Enjoy...

* * *

**i sit and watch your flowers wilting in the kitchen**  
**i felt like i was one of them gasping for air**  
**i go from room to room hoping to find you**  
**i play my music louder than you'd like me to  
**Better Than Ezra, "Get You In"

**August 2002**

Olivia Gable hadn't seen Juice Ortiz since their senior year of high school. Christmas, in fact. She'd been eighteen, he was seventeen, and he'd come from California to visit her in West Virginia. For one reason or another that visit had marked the beginning of the end for them, and within a few months they'd split up.

Well. Minor correction: she broke up with him. He'd been against it and she'd…

It was a long time ago, and the only reason Olivia was thinking about it now was because of the phone call she'd just gotten. Tara. To tell her Juice's mother had died after a final bout with breast cancer.

Three years, roughly, though in truth closer to four. Three years since that Christmas and the end of her relationship with Juice, and they hadn't spoken once. Olivia hadn't been back to Charming since the day she and her father left there, but she knew she had to go now.

Ana Ortiz was a kind woman, and she'd always treated Olivia well. She wanted to pay her respects.

And what was the big deal? She could handle seeing Juice. It had been three and a half years. That was forever at their age. The difference between eighteen and twenty-two was huge. She'd started college. Quit college. Travelled the country. She was on the verge of having her first solo show.

Juice, she imagined, had patched into SAMCRO by now—since she knew through Tara (who she still talked to on the regular) he hadn't gone to college, preferring to stay home and close to his mom as she got sicker, then well again, then sick again.

Tara wasn't really in contact with anyone back home since she'd moved to Chicago, so she didn't have fresh scoop. Olivia wondered how she'd heard about Juice's mom. Maybe Juice called her. Jax wouldn't have. Or Gemma. Donna was a possibility.

Olivia was going. She would regret it if she didn't. It was a long drive, but doable, and the gallery had her show well in hand. They could spare her for a few days.

She should call her dad. He wouldn't be able to get off work on such short notice, or swing the flight, but he should at least know. She could put both their names on the flowers.

A mental to-do list began to form as she wandered from room to her in her sunny apartment. Call her dad. Call a florist. Call the gallery. Ask her neighbor to feed the cat. Take her black dress to the cleaners.

Her hand went to her throat, where she still wore the opal necklace Juice had given her. She should leave it at home. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

But the idea of taking it off—no. What did it matter? It was a pretty piece of jewelry that suited her. Besides, Juice had surely moved on by now. He probably had some cute girlfriend who loved to perch on the back of his bike and brag about being an old lady.

Or maybe he was hot and heavy with a crow eater, and she got all territorial when the other girls looked at her man. Because of course all the crow eaters looked at Juice: he was adorable and sweet and _really_ good—

She cut that thought off with a scowl. "Way to be unhelpful," she muttered at her own brain.

Change the oil in the Cougar. Find her mom's pearl earrings. Reschedule her hair appointment. And the last fitting.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the best timing, but it was important. She could do it if she worked extra hard when she got home.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she searched her jewelry box. She should take that purple sweater. Juice had always liked her in purple.

Not that it mattered what Juice did or didn't like her in; she wasn't going for Juice. She was going to say goodbye to Ana. Olivia and Juice were long over.

Olivia had moved on. So why wouldn't he?

The idea didn't make her sad, exactly. More, sort of…nostalgic. Which was fine. Nostalgia was fine. Anything more than that could be trouble. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hall mirror as she went past, and she rolled her eyes at herself.

_Keep it together, Gable. It's gonna be fine._

One little road trip. She was sort of an old hand at them, wasn't she?

* * *

Juice had been keeping it together pretty well, really. His mom had been in hospice care for a while, and when the end finally came it was more of a relief than anything. She'd been in so much pain there at the end, no matter how much morphine they gave her, and he'd held on to her hand and just kept talking: you remember that time I tried to make you a cake for your birthday and almost set the oven on fire? You remember how mad I was when you decided to move us to Charming? I never thanked you for that, I shoulda thanked you, I shoulda said…

A million things. She'd been sick for a long time, but that didn't mean you could ever _really_ prepare for it. Not completely.

Gemma had been great, of course, helping with everything: the funeral arrangements, notifying everybody, sending the crow eaters by his place with a constant stream of food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so well.

They'd offered other things, too, more in keeping with their speciality, but he'd turned them all down. The girls were good for some fun, and he enjoyed them from time to time—even though he wasn't in the club, not even a prospect—but it didn't seem right just now. Sex was the last thing on his mind (for maybe the first time in his life), but they all seemed to understand.

Nobody mentioned Olivia. He sort of, maybe, in the back of his mind, hoped she'd come down from Portland, but he hadn't planned on it. He didn't think anyone had even told her; Gemma probably wouldn't've called, and he didn't realize Tara even knew. When he didn't see her at the receiving he figured she wasn't coming, and he accepted it with a sort of pang in the pit of his gut.

She'd moved on. It had been three and a half years, after all, and just because he'd spent it waiting for her, thinking about her, wanting her didn't mean she had. Maybe he should talk to Chibs about prospecting for the MC. He'd offered several times, and so had Jax, but Juice had always turned them down. He knew Olivia didn't want to be an old lady, and she might not even want to settle in Charming. He wanted to be ready in case she came back, and he wanted her to know he was serious about trying again.

Except it didn't look like she was coming back. If this hadn't brought her, then what would? She didn't really have anything here anymore, though once upon a time he thought she had him. Even after she ended it he thought that, because their thing hadn't been some fluke. It hadn't been high school infatuation. They loved each other. He knew that. He would bank anything he had on it.

All of that and more flashed through his head as he got ready for the funeral. His mom, always a planner, had told him what she wanted him to wear, so it was with a grim sort of determination that he got dressed: black suit, white shirt, thin black tie. Shiny black shoes that he'd polished the night before. He checked his reflection on the way out the door and smoothed his tie with a frown. He felt like an idiot, but it was one last thing he could do for his mom.

Gemma waited to pick him up, because going to your own mother's funeral on a motorcycle (while wearing a suit) seemed a little strange. She offered a sad smile when she saw him and leaned over the console to wrap him in a hug.

"How you doin', baby?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Okay, I guess. Thanks for the ride."

"No problem."

The church was packed, which surprised him. But it shouldn't have. People loved his mom. She was active at church, in Charming itself, and the customers at the garage thought she hung the moon. Plus there was the MC, of course, and members of some other charters. He'd asked the SAMCRO guys to sit with him in the family pew so he wouldn't be all alone, and when he finally trudged down the aisle, behind her casket, he saw that there was an empty space next to Gemma.

He also thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, a familiar flash of bright hair, but he was probably imagining things. Or, please, Olivia wasn't the only redhead in California. It could be anybody.

The funeral mass seemed to last forever, and as he knelt for the prayer, stood for the hymns, crossed himself and mouthed the familiar responses, he felt hollow. What was he going to do without her? He was an adult, and it wasn't like he…but still. She was his mom, and it had been just the two of them his whole life.

He kept his head down on the way out. Barely noticed the crowd around him at the graveside service.

He stood next to the grave for a long time after everyone had scattered, and finally Jax came back to lead him away. "Come on, brother," he said, even though they weren't. "Everybody's at Gemma's. They all wanna pay their respects."

"It was a nice funeral, wasn't it?" he said. He tried to wipe his eyes so Jax wouldn't see, but he was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

"Yeah, man. Your mom would've liked it."

"Yeah," Juice said. "She liked the new priest, too. He's the one who came to the hospice place. He did a good job."

Jax didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded. He knew Juice wasn't really talking to him anyway: more just talking. He got Juice loaded into Gemma's car and shared a brief smile with his mom before he went to get his bike.

"You okay?" Gemma said. "Holdin' it together?"

He nodded and watched the scenery pass by the window. "Sure," he said. "Well enough, I guess."

She patted his knee. "You're gonna get through this, sweetheart. We're all here for you, whatever you need."

"I know, Gem. Thanks."

The crowd was thick at the Teller-Morrow house, and Juice tried to find a quiet corner, but it was impossible. Everyone—even people he swore he'd never seen before in his life—had to come talk to him. Tell him some story about Ana, some time she'd done something nice for them or gone out of her way to help. He nodded through it all, a vague sort of smile on his face, and picked at the food they brought.

Everything seemed sluggish and slow, the colors muted to a dull gray, and it was hard to focus his eyes. He wondered when he'd last slept, like really slept. Before she died, for sure, because in those last few days he could barely close his eyes for fear when he opened them again she'd be gone.

He worked his way through the press, stopping now and then to shake a hand and listen to a kind word. They meant well. He knew they did. But God he had to get out before he went nuts.

He escaped onto the deck. There were a few people out there, but mostly MC guys smoking, and when Chibs saw his face he jerked his head toward the house.

"Let's give the lad a moment, aye?" he said to the others, and they fell in step behind him, patting Juice's shoulder or his back as they went by, and finally, finally, he was alone.

He raised shaking hands to his head and squeezed. He could hear the wind through the trees. The birds calling back and forth. The occasional car out on the road. But the sounds of the party (gathering?) were muted, and he was grateful. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet, and a rueful sigh escaped when he heard the door open and close behind him.

"Oh! I didn't—I'm sorry. I didn't see you out here."

His eyes opened and he didn't turn around. He'd know that voice anywhere. He dreamt of that voice. He hadn't heard it in over three years, but it didn't matter. Her surprised exclamation had made his pulse spike and the blood rush to his face in a hot wave. The world around him had gone crystal clear, and everything was back to full technicolor.

He turned slowly, his hungry gaze absorbing bits of her at a time: the hair. It was her hair he'd seen in the church after all. Long white legs. Freckles scattered across her arms. She wore a fitted, sleeveless black dress that fell to just above the knee and was cut high in the front. A familiar opal winked against the dark fabric, and he couldn't get past it.

"Juice?" she said, softly.

Finally he looked her in the face, and his breath caught like he'd been punched in the gut. Three years had done her well. She looked like a woman now, the lines of her face etched more clearly than they'd been at eighteen. Her cheekbones were sharp, her features bold as ever, and her eyes—

Exactly how he remembered them, green the color of spring.

"Liv," he said on a rough exhale. "I didn't think you'd come."

Her full mouth eased into a shy smile. "Of course I came. Tara called to tell me, and I—your mom was wonderful. I had to come."

He couldn't help but smile back, the first real smile since…well, he couldn't remember. A really long time. "You look good, Liv," he said. "Portland suits you, I guess."

"You do too, Ortiz." She gestured toward her head. "Nice hair."

"Ah." He rubbed a hand back and forth across his mohawk. "Yeah. It's sorta somethin' I'm tryin'. My mom hated it."

"Mmm," she said, a low noise of amusement. "I think I did too, at first. When I saw you at the church. But I don't know. It suits you."

He was taller than when she'd last seen him. Or so she thought. She wore heels, not very high, but still she had to tilt her head back further than she remembered. He'd shed his suit jacket at some point, and while he still had some of his old baby pudge, she could see muscles moving beneath the crisp material of his shirt.

There were bags under his eyes. New lines around them, and bracketing his mouth. When he'd smiled she got the feeling he hadn't done it in a while, and that he'd almost forgotten how. He looked younger than twenty-two—he would always have a baby face—but still. The last three plus years had aged him more than she would've guessed, and it hurt her to see it.

The moment stretched between them as they watched each other. She felt—she wasn't sure what she felt. A flutter in her belly and a rush of color to her cheeks. She wanted to look away, but his eyes held her as surely as his arms might. If she took a step closer. If she—

She cut that thought off half-formed. "It's good to see you, even like this."

"Yeah, Olivia," he said, another tiny smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

Neither of them knew how long they might have stood like that, just staring at each other across the distance between them, because just then the door opened again and Gemma stuck her head out.

"Oh," she said, her tone much dryer than Olivia's had been. "I guess you two found each other. Juice, sweetheart, people are asking for you. The priest just got here."

Juice frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, Gem. I'm coming." He flashed Olivia an apologetic grimace before he slipped past Gemma into the house.

Olivia turned toward Gemma with a smile. "Gem. It's good to see you."

"Uh huh." She stepped out onto the porch and crossed her arms over her chest. "How's Portland?"

"It's fine. How's Charming?"

"Fantastic."

"Good," Olivia said. "So. Small talk over?"

Gemma took a step forward and glared down at Olivia. "Listen, little girl. This town is your home. You know that and I know that, and if you wanna come back here, that's fine. But don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ get that boy mixed up over you again. Not sure he ever got over the first time, and that's the last fuckin' thing he needs."

Olivia frowned, taken aback by Gemma's vehemence. "I'm not here to get anyone mixed up, Gemma. I just wanted to pay my respects to Ms. Ortiz."

She snorted. "Glad to hear it. Maybe you should quit lookin' at him like that, though."

"Like what?" she said. "I was just looking. We were talking. It's polite to look at someone when you're having a conversation."

"Sure," Gemma said. She sighed and shook her head. Her expression softened, but her tone stayed sharp. "Just be careful, Olivia."

"Gemma. I'm going back to Portland tomorrow. What could possibly happen in, like, eighteen hours?"

"With you two?" Another snort, even more skeptical than the first one. "Anything, sweetheart. Any goddamn thing."

Olivia couldn't really argue with that point. She'd felt the heat that still lingered there, after all. But she knew Gemma was wrong. She had no intention of messing with Juice. The encounter they just had was probably the last time they'd speak to each other, unless she sought him out to say goodbye.

By this time tomorrow she'd be back in Portland and back to her life, and Juice would barely remember she'd even been here at all.

* * *

_So listen. What you just read is literally all I have written of this fic right now, but I wanted to go ahead and start publishing just so I could get some feedback. *shrug* Needy writer is needy. I know where I'm going, and honestly I think most of my block was just getting it started._

_So we'll see. ;)_


	2. A Drink

Thanks for the kind words, loves. :) And thanks to Lynn from some high-quality beta'ing.

* * *

**why can't i be your lover?**  
**can there be another?**  
**and when i feel without i want to get you in  
**Better Than Ezra, "Get You In"

Olivia had chatted with Opie and Donna. Jax, a little. Some of the other guys, too, like Chibs and Tig. She answered all the same questions: yeah, Portland's fine. No, I'm not back. Just visiting. My dad's doing great I'll tell him you said hi.

Finally she felt like she could duck out, but she wanted to say goodbye to Juice. She couldn't find him in the crowd, even though it had dwindled since they'd both ended up on the porch earlier. Maybe she should just go. A clean exit: in and out, no muss no fuss.

She had just decided that was what she would do when she turned around and nearly ran right into him. "Oh!" she said, flustered. "Hi again."

He caught her elbows to keep her from stumbling and smiled. "Hey. I was looking for you."

"Oh," she said again. Then, with a mental eye roll at her own idiocy, "I was too. Looking for you, I mean."

"Yeah?"

His grin was so endearing and familiar that she couldn't help but return it. "Yeah, Ortiz. I wanted to say goodbye."

The expression faltered, and some of the light left his eyes. "Oh, right. Of course. You got a long drive ahead."

She waved a hand. "I'm not leaving until tomorrow. I figured I'd need a little time before a ten hour drive. You know. After."

He nodded his understanding, then cast a look over his shoulder. "I guess I gotta stay till everyone leaves. That's the protocol, right?"

"I don't know," she said. "Last funeral I went to I was thirteen."

"Ah," he said with a wince. "Sorry."

"It was a long time ago," she said. Then, all in a rush, "We could get out of here. Together, I mean. If you sneak maybe no one will notice."

"Are you serious?" he said, eyes widening.

She looked away, a scrunch forming along the bridge of her nose. "No, of course not. That wouldn't be…the most appropriate thing, would it?"

He touched her arm, a light brush of his fingers, and she glanced up at him again. "I wish you didn't have to leave so soon."

"Hhhmm," she said, a low noise that might have or might not have meant agreement.

The sounds of the crowd around them seemed to fade as they watched each other, and after a moment it felt like they were the only two in the room, enclosed in a little bubble of quiet and…whatever it was that still simmered in the air between them.

"I should—"

"Wait," he said. "Just a sec. I can't leave now, but maybe later…? We could, I don't know. Have a drink or something? Catch up a little. It's been a long time, Liv." His voice softened, and she had to lean closer to hear. "We meant a lot to each other once. Seems crazy to just say hey and then…nothing."

Except that was exactly what she'd planned for, a quick hello and goodbye with no complications in between. She wanted to say no. She really really should say no. She opened her mouth to say just that and was astounded by what actually came out: "Sure, Juicy. I'd like that."

His face eased into another blinding, eye-crinkling smile. "Good. Great. Maybe, uh…eight? I think I can be out of here by eight."

"God I hope so," she said. "There's that place on the corner of Sycamore and King. Do you know it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Don't think I've been there, but I know where you mean."

"I haven't been there, either, which hopefully means we won't run into anyone we know." Her brow furrowed. "Wait, that—"

"No," he said, laughing. "I know what you meant. And, yeah, that sounds good. So tonight, then?"

"Sure, Ortiz. Tonight."

Before she could say anything else staggeringly stupid, she bid him goodbye and turned to go. He tucked his hands in his pockets and watched her work through the crowd, his grin lighting up the room and drawing glances from all around. Somewhere Gemma sighed and shook her head and went back to wrapping leftover tuna casserole.

* * *

"Oh, and, you know that tattoo you dared me to get for my eighteenth birthday?"

His eyes narrowed. He knew she hadn't had a tattoo last time he saw her naked (quick mental image that he tried to shove aside), but maybe she'd gotten it since then. Of course he remembered the dare. They'd even debated what she could get, choosing and rejecting about twenty-five different things as she deliberated over it.

"Yeah…?" he finally said, drawing the word out into several syllables.

"Day after high school graduation," she said. "My dad almost had a fit, but I was eighteen and out of school, so what could he do?"

He laughed. "Man, that's awesome. What did you end up getting? And—" He broke off to shift in his seat a little. "Where?"

Her grin was wicked. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Ha," he said on a breath. Four years hadn't changed her much, really. Still giving him shit whenever she had the chance. _I really really would_, he thought, and she looked at him like she could read it on his face.

He ducked his head and decided a change of subject was in order. "So, hey, Opie and Donna got _married_," he said. "Can you believe that?"

"Yeah, that's the word," she said with a grin. "Good for them."

"I guess you probably saw them today."

"I did, but I already knew." She took a sip of her bourbon and fiddled with the swizzle stick. "Opie told me."

He coughed a little as he choked on beer. "Opie? You still talk to Opie?"

"Yep," she said. "Some."

"Huh." He hesitated. "Anybody else?"

"Tara, of course. She's who told me about your mom. But that's it, really."

"Not Jax?"

"Nah. I think Tara got me in the breakup, which makes sense." A brief pause. "How is Jax, these days? We chatted a little, but barely more than basic small talk."

Juice shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Busy with the MC. Fucks around with the crow eaters a lot." He looked up and their eyes met across the small table. "He misses her, I'm pretty sure. He doesn't say anything, but you can tell."

Olivia's mouth quirked. "She misses him, too."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess—I mean, there are some things you don't get over."

"Juice—"

"Don't worry about it." He touched her hand, lightly. "I never thought you…" He frowned down into his drink. "I never thought you'd be the type to settle down real fast. Like, married at twenty-one is great for Donna and Ope, but it's not like it ever woulda happened for us."

"You think?" she said, her eyes steady on his face.

"Well—you said it, right? We were just kids. Had a lot more livin' left to do."

She winced a little as he quoted her old words back at her. "Is that what you've done, Juicy?"

He seemed to think it over as he took a pull from his bottle. "No, not really." His smile was more grimace. "What about you? I know you got the tattoo. What other ways did young Olivia Jameson find to rebel against authority?"

She laughed. "Well…I guess maybe I found a few. Dropped out of school after freshman year to travel the country."

"Man. Bet your dad loved that."

"Yeah he was thrilled as hell. But, like…I just kept looking at my life, you know? Everything I said to you—that we were too young and we both needed to see what was out there—and there I was just kinda wasting away in school. So I left."

"Hhmm. And ended up in Portland."

"Eventually," she said. "I guess I'm a West coast girl at heart." She dropped his eyes and smiled. "When I heard you'd stayed in Charming I figured you'd be prospecting as soon as possible."

He didn't want to tell her why he hadn't, so he just shrugged. "My mom already wasn't happy I decided to skip college. She woulda killed me if I'd come home in a kutte, too."

"You could go now," she said. At his look she flicked her fingers. "What's keeping you in Charming, really? You could get out of here. Go to school. Build a life that didn't involve an outlaw motorcycle gang."

"I guess I could," he said. "I hear Portland's nice."

"It's okay," she said. Color washed over her cheeks and she thought maybe she'd had enough to drink. When he asked her to meet him she really _should _have said no. It wasn't the best idea for her to be alone in a bar with Juice Ortiz.

But she couldn't stand the idea that the odd, stilted conversation on Gemma's porch would be the only time they spoke. She wanted to hear how he was doing. Find out how life in Charming was now that she'd moved on from it.

The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her life back in Portland.

If he noticed her sudden silence he didn't comment. Instead he tapped a fingertip against his beer bottle and offered a sheepish smile. "I'm glad you came down, Liv. My mom always liked you a lot."

"I liked her, too," she said. Her face twisted. "I should've come back sooner. To see her, I mean."

"I don't know. That might've been kinda awkward. Your ex-boyfriend's mom? Isn't that almost like your ex-mother-in-law?"

"Almost," she said. "But, you know, it's been a while. And I don't want to think of us as exes."

"No?" he said. He studied her a moment. "How do you wanna think of us, Olivia?"

Something about his tone, the intensity of his gaze, made her fidget. "Um…as friends, you know. Like, me and Ope or me and Jax." She hitched a shoulder. "Friends."

"Right," he said with a quick grin. "Friends." He leaned across the table and set his hand over hers to still her. "Relax, Liv. It's just me."

"I'm relaxed," she said with a tense smile.

"Uh huh." He ran a fingertip along one of the bones in the back of her hand and she shivered. "Who you think you're talkin' to? It's been a while, but I still know how to read you."

She bit her lip, just a little, and pulled her hand back. "It's late," she said.

"Not that late. Barely ten."

"Well, true…but I've got a long drive tomorrow, and—" She ducked her head. _And you're really getting to me and this is a terrible idea._ "And I should get some sleep," she said aloud. "You should too. You look—you look exhausted, Juicy."

"Hum. Yeah, I haven't really been sleeping much. Not in a while."

She reached out again, hesitantly, and brushed her fingers over his hand. He flipped it palm up and captured hers before she could pull it back. They watched each other across the table: his pupils went big; her cheeks flushed. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gently tugged out of his grasp.

"I should go," she said, but made no move to leave. They sat a bit longer, neither looking away, and her eyes caressed his face almost like a physical touch.

He let out a breath. "Sure, Liv," he said. "Can I walk you to your car?"

After a moment she nodded. "That'd be nice."

He came around the table to help her into her sweater, a dark purple cardigan with pearl buttons that made her skin seem to glow in the bar's low light. "Pretty sweater," he said.

She looked away so he wouldn't see her deepening blush. "Thanks," she said.

He rested his palm at the small of her back as they walked, and they didn't speak until they were at her car.

"The Cougar," Juice said, grinning. "Nice."

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me for good and all when I left for college. Later he was extra pissed, because you know. I took it with me when I dropped out."

"You rebel," he said.

"That's me. Bucking convention one wasted scholarship at a time." The wind caught the trailing ends of her hair, but when she reached for it he got there first. He tucked it back with warm, gentle fingers, and his thumb briefly stroked the soft skin at her temple.

"Liv—"

"Juicy," she said on a quiet breath. He was so close. She could feel the heat of him. His familiar scent, so unchanged since high school that it actually _hurt_, enveloped her. She took a step back, but the car stopped her retreat.

"I really should go," she said.

He smiled and gave her room. "Portland beckons, huh?"

"Yeah." Her mouth curved. "The Rose City."

His head tilted as he watched her. "You hate roses."

"I do, but as far as I know there's no tulip city."

She meant it as a joke, but somehow it fell flat, and next thing she knew he was in her face again, close but not…pressing. Just _there_, big and electric and _Juice_. He cupped her face in his hand and lifted her chin so that their eyes met.

"Why settle?" he said. "You want a tulip city, go find one."

"If only it were that easy."

"It can be." He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. "Not everything has to be complicated, Liv."

"Next you're gonna tell me I think too much," she murmured.

His eyes trailed down to rest on her mouth before they flicked back up again. "You do," he said. His voice had gone soft, almost coaxing, and she knew what he wanted. She knew what _she_ wanted, but it wasn't a good idea. For either of them.

She laced her fingers through his and pulled his palm away from her cheek. "Juice—"

"I know," he said. "Bad idea. Broke up for a reason. Been too long. Blah, blah, blah."

Her brows drew together in indignation. "It's not _blah, blah, blah_!"

"You haven't changed at all, Olivia," he said on a chuckle.

"That's not true. I'm—"

"What? You're what? Older? That's true. Less stubborn?" He tapped the back of her hand as he considered it. "Nope. Less analytical, maybe?" He rejected that idea with a quick jerk of his chin. "I don't think so. How about less endlessly _practical_?" He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nah."

Her frown deepened. "You make me sound so boring."

"Not boring." He dipped his head to nuzzle her nose. "You're probably the least boring person I've ever met."

His mouth hovered over hers, so close she could feel his breath, taste the beer-tinged heat of it, and if she didn't push him away now she might not be able to.

"Please," she said.

"Please what?" He planted a tiny kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Please stop? Say that and I will. You know I will."

Somehow her fingers had gotten all tangled in his white dress shirt, two handfuls of it, and when she realized it she eased her grip. He grabbed one of them before she could let go and kissed each fingertip.

"Tell me to stop. Say goodbye again. I'll let you get in your car and drive away and that'll be it."

"I can't," she said, her voice tremulous and unsure.

"Can't what?" He trailed his nose up the side of her throat. Brushed his lips over her scrambling pulse. "Can't kiss me, or can't walk away?"

"Either," she said. "Both. I don't know."

He lifted his head, and when their eyes met he was grinning. "Same ol' Liv." He had one hand pressed against the car, and the other came up to tangle in the hair at the back of her neck. "Stop thinking, baby," he said. "Stop thinking and just let me kiss you."

"It's not that simple, Juice."

"Yeah it is. For once, Olivia, it fucking well is." He was pressing tiny butterfly kisses along the line of her jaw; just under her chin; behind her ear; and her breath left in a hot rush. His hands skimmed down her sides, over her hips, then up again to rest at her waist, his fingers splayed so she could feel the pressure of his grip from her ribs to the curve of her hip.

He knew her. Knew exactly how to touch her, how to kiss her, and when his teeth found her earlobe she was lost. Her knees went weak and she gripped his arm for support.

"My room," she said. "Follow me. I'm just around the corner."

He pulled back, his eyes wide and nearly all pupil, and his mouth fell open like he'd just taken a punch to the solar plexus. "Yeah?" he breathed.

"Yeah," she said, trying to fight a smile. "Please?"

"You gotta ask?"

"Well I don't want you to feel obligated to—"

"Olivia!" He kissed her forehead. "Get in the car. I'm right behind you."

"Okay," she said. "Okay." Then, "Wait!" as he started away.

He turned back with a questioning look.

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "Do you have—God, I can't believe—If you need to stop by the drugstore, I'll wait."

One long stride and she was pressed between his body and the car. He bit the soft skin of her throat and rubbed his tongue against the pounding pulse. "You think I'd forget to bring condoms?"

"I don't know, I—wait." She shoved at his shoulder until he leaned away. "Did you plan this?"

He let out a sigh. "No, Olivia. I just…I thought it would be better to be prepared. Just in case."

"Just in case I invited you back to my room for a quick fuck?"

His head tilted. "I was thinking slow. Long and slow and intense. At least the first time."

She lifted a brow. "And the second time?" she said.

"Depends. Maybe quick. Maybe slow. Maybe somewhere in between. I don't know, Liv. I guess we'll decide when we get to it." He ran his tongue around the curve of her ear. "Now the third time—the third time I think you should set the pace. I want you on top of me, Livvie. I wanna watch your face while you—"

"Juice!" she said, half choking. "God, we're in a parking lot!"

"Then I guess we better get back to your room, huh?"

She looked at him then, really _looked_, and through the signs of fatigue and the familiar sweetness of his face she saw something surprising. She might still be the same (so he claimed), but this Juice Ortiz was someone else. Not a complete stranger; she still knew how to push his buttons and how to make him laugh; but the last three plus years had given him a new confidence, a new strength, that she hadn't quite seen in him before.

"Yeah," she said, stunned and breathless. "Yeah, I guess we better."

* * *

_Well I mean. It was inevitable. Right?_


	3. Memory

Thanks for all the reviews, m'loves. :) They mean a lot.

Oh, this chapter is prrrreeetty nsfw, so. Proceed with caution. :)

* * *

**you moved in slow degrees**  
**a sudden memory**  
**you're a leonard cohen song  
**Better Than Ezra, "Under You"

She barely had the door open and got them inside before his lips were on hers, firm and hot and as familiar as breathing. Her lower lip slotted between his like it had been made to fit there, and he sucked. Nibbled. Hers parted on a gasp and his tongue dipped between them.

The years disappeared like nothing, and in a heady, dizzying rush they both felt seventeen again. Her arms went around his neck and he pressed a hand to the small of her back to pull her closer. They drowned in each other, all lips and tongues and teeth, breathless little moans and hungry, desperate pleas.

"Taste so good, Livvie," he mumbled as he kissed along the line of her jaw. "Just like I remembered. Better." He rested his forehead against hers and they were both breathing hard, rough pants that mingled in the charged space between them.

His eyes pleaded with her, challenged her, _knew_ her, and with a tiny nod she accepted everything that look promised. He ran his hands down her body to ruck her skirt up; cupped the backs of her thighs and pulled them around his waist.

"You promised me slow, Ortiz," she said between fervent kisses.

"Might've lied. Sorry."

"It's okay." She fumbled with the buttons down the front of his shirt, then made a frustrated noise and tugged his tie over his head. "God you're wearing way too much clothing."

"Was gonna say the same about you," he said with a strained chuckle.

He got them to the bed and let her go to drop to her feet. She kicked her shoes across the room and stripped off her sweater, never once letting up on the kisses. She shoved his shirt off his shoulders and pulled away, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. Just looking at you." He was more cut than he'd been at seventeen, but like she'd noticed earlier… She ran her hand down his chest and pinched some of the pudge at his waist.

He blushed. "Been workin' on that," he said.

"I love it. It's perfect." She dropped to her knees and sucked the spot, capturing it between her teeth to nibble.

"God, baby," he breathed. "You gotta stand up. Please, Jesus Christ, stand up."

"What's the matter?" she said. She slid her hand up the inside of his leg to stroke the prominent bulge in his pants. "You don't like me on my knees?"

His head fell back and he tangled his fingers in her hair. "You know I do, Livvie. That's why you gotta stand up. Can't handle you on your knees just yet."

"Mmmm." But she did as he asked, rising to her feet and going for his belt instead. "Did you bring those condoms?"

"Yeah, they're—" He cast around a moment and finally caught sight of his jacket by the door. "Over there."

"Unzip me and then go get them."

She turned her back and pulled her hair over one shoulder. His hands shook as he fumbled for the tiny zipper, but at last he got it and dragged it down. She spun before he got a good look at the white skin of her back, and he stumbled toward the door as she slipped the dress off her shoulders. By the time he had the box and was facing her again, it was puddled around her ankles and she wore only a lacy purple bra and matching panties.

"Purple," he said with a grin. "I love you in purple."

"I know you do, Juicy."

He lifted a brow and wrapped his hands around her waist. "You plan this, Gable?"

"Nah," she said. She bit the side of his neck and sucked. "I just like to be prepared."

"I admire that about you," he said. "Really." He lifted her and dropped her on the bed like she weighed nothing, and she let out a shriek before lapsing into giggles.

"Ortiz!"

Then he was on top of her, his mouth and hands everywhere: her collarbones; the curve of her breasts; her soft tummy; the line of her thigh and the swell of her hip.

"You're so beautiful, Livvie. God I forgot how—or maybe you're even prettier now, sexier—didn't even think that was possible."

He mumbled on like that for a while until she laughed and pulled him up again. "You're still wearing pants, Juan Carlos."

"Huh," he said. "I guess I am. Wanna help me with that?"

She shook her head. "Nuh uh. Strip."

He grinned, big and wide, and hopped off the bed. He toed off his shoes while slowly unbuckling his belt, his eyes on hers and his lip caught between his teeth.

"That's right," she said through her giggles. "Take it off, baby."

"Oh I'm takin' it off." He tossed his belt aside and unzipped his trousers. She whistled as he dropped them, and when he kicked them away he turned around to shake his ass at her. She smacked it through his black boxer briefs with the flat of her palm.

"Hey!" he said. "No touching the dancers!"

"Whoops." She sat back with a grin. "My bad. Please, continue."

He got rid of one sock, then the other, rolling them down like he was taking off stockings, slow and sexy and with much contorting of his face, and she couldn't stop laughing.

"Nice gams, baby," she said.

"Uh huh." He ran his palm up the length of her leg. "You too."

She hooked a finger in the waistband of his shorts and hauled him closer. "What about these?"

"Thought maybe you could help me with them."

She sat up again, perched on the edge of the bed, and slid both hands up the back of his legs. Nibbled at his tummy and licked a circle around his bellybutton. He let out a soft groan and carded his fingers through her hair.

"Your mouth feels so good, baby."

"You _taste_ so good." She tugged his shorts down so that his erection bobbed free. When her tongue flicked against the tip he hissed.

"God, Livvie, what did I just say? I can't—I'll last two seconds if you—"

"There's always round two," she murmured as her lips closed around the glans.

"Fuck! Goddamn, baby, fuck—!" He shook his head and pulled gently at her hair. "Livvie, wait, please. I want—this isn't what I want. Not the first time."

She sat back with a frown between her brows that he smoothed with the pad of thumb. "Have you somehow developed an aversion to blowjobs in the last few years, Juicy?"

"No," he said. "Ha, no, not at all. Especially not—I mean—your mouth, Jesus…" He ran a hand over his scalp and sat down next to her. "You give, I think, the best blowjobs in the history of the world. Not tryin' to exaggerate, either."

"Hhhm." She traced a fingertip along the tattoo that curved around his wrist. "That's good to know, I guess."

He caught her chin and raised her head so that they were eye to eye. "I don't want the first time I come with you in almost four years to be—like that. I wanna be…" He let out a long breath. "I wanna make love to you." He pressed his lips to her shoulder, then frowned and leaned back to get a look at her shoulder blade.

"I think I've discovered your secret, Ms. Gable."

She tossed him a look and grinned at his expression. "They're goldfish," she said. Two of them, almost twined together but not quite, done in a dreamy watercolor style. One was golden-red, orangey, while the other was black.

"They look like those goldfish I won you that time at the fair."

"Do they?" she said. "I hadn't noticed."

He kissed the orange one. "Almost the color of your hair."

"Mmhhmm," she said.

They locked eyes, and his hand wrapped around the back of her neck to pull her against him. He tumbled backwards, taking her with them, and they both let out breathless bursts of laughter as he hit the bed. He held her close, capturing her mouth with his and kissing her long and slow. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he loved her, but he managed to swallow it back. No need to rush things. No need to scare her off before they even really got started.

"Is that okay?" he said, nuzzling her chin. "Is that what you want, too?"

Her brow furrowed as she studied his face, but finally she nodded. "Yeah, Juicy. That's what I want."

His grin lit up the room, and as they kissed he reached around her to unclasp her bra. It fell away, and when his eyes landed on her breasts they went wide in surprise. "Holy shit what the when did—" He lost coherence somewhere in the middle and just shook his head like a stunned animal.

She giggled and sat up to straddle his middle. Tugged at the barbells that pierced either nipple with a concerned little frown. "What's the matter, sugar?" she said, all innocence. "You like?"

"I, uh—" He rested his hands on her shoulders and slowly drew them down her body, over her breasts to her tummy, then back up again. He cupped them in either palm and then tugged at one of the piercings like she'd just done.

Her breath caught and he jerked his fingers back. "Did I—?"

"No," she said. "No, that was good. Do it again."

He bit his lip and repeated it, a little harder. She rocked against him with a soft moan, and he let out a stuttering gasp. "Jesus," he whispered. He twisted both of them, sliding the barbells through the piercings, and she moaned again.

"That's so good, Juicy."

"That's maybe the sexiest goddamn thing I've ever seen." He slid his thumb back forth across her nipple. "When did you do this?"

"A couple of years ago," she said. "I met this girl…" She trailed off with a blush. "She was a professional piercer. One night she was—and she suggested—so I let her."

"She was what?"

Her blush deepened and she ducked her head. "Playing with my nipples, Juice. What do you think?"

"Oh," he said. "So you…with a girl?"

She hitched a shoulder. "More than one girl."

"At the same time?" he said, wide-eyed.

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, and shook her head. "No, love. Not at the same time." She waved it away. "Let's not talk about all that right now. We were in the middle of something, weren't we?"

He sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and flipped them both over. "I think we were, yeah." He kissed a line down the white column of her throat, over the hollow, to her chest. He paused a moment, lifting his eyes to her face, and then captured a nipple with his lips.

"Does it make them more sensitive?" he mumbled, flicking his tongue across it.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Especially when I'm turned on."

A smug grin. "Like now?"

"Definitely like now."

He gave a low, hungry growl and sucked the nipple into his mouth, barbell and all. He used his tongue to roll the piercing, then did the same with his lips. Her back arched and her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Still remember lesson number one, I see."

"Oh, Livvie," he said. "I remember everything you taught me." He kissed just above her bellybutton, then punctuated each word with a rough suck on her soft skin. "Every. Single. Lesson."

He drew her panties down her legs and pressed his lips to the inside of her knee. Dragged his tongue over the scars on her thigh like they were long lost friends. "Was hopin' we could revisit lesson three," he said at last.

"Hhhmm." Her lips twitched. "Remind me what that involved?"

"Gladly." He spread her labia and lapped a long line from her clit down to the curve of her ass and back again.

"Fuck," she said, the word catching as her breath hitched.

"Seem familiar?"

"Rings a vague bell," she said. "Maybe you should keep going…? Just to make sure I really remember."

"Anything I can do to help, baby." He ran the tip of his tongue over her inner labia and carefully, thoroughly explored every inch of her slick skin. She moaned, and without letting up he pulled her legs over his shoulders. He flicked across her clit, a quick tease, and then licked down to dip his tongue inside her.

"Yes, God, please, yes like that!" Olivia had had her share of lovers over the past few years, but no one had ever licked her pussy with quite the same level of enthusiasm and dedication as Juice Ortiz. It was something she could appreciate. Especially just now, when he was applying himself with familiar zeal.

"Juicy!" she moaned as he wrapped his lips around her clit. He sucked hard, then soft, then swirled his tongue around and around the swollen nub until her legs shook.

He wanted to tease her. To keep licking and nibbling and playing until she begged him to let her come. But he found he had no willpower, literally none, and all he _really_ wanted was to taste her as she came all over his tongue.

He slid two fingers into her and hooked them until he hit her G-spot. Her hips bucked and he lapped and sucked at her clit while she whimpered.

"Fuck, fuck, oh God oh God gonna come so hard, fuck fuck _fuck_!" One last rasp of his tongue and she was gone, her body arching and her fingers tightening against his scalp. He groaned as the rush of wetness he'd been craving hit his lips, and he lapped up every drop.

"Taste so fuckin' good, Livvie baby," he said, his voice drunk and lust-wrecked. He kept up the pressure on her G-spot and softened his tongue on her clit as the last aftershocks rippled through her.

"Juicy, please," she whimpered, "please, baby."

"Please what, Liv?" He kissed the inside of her thigh; bit down a little and tugged at the tender skin with his teeth. "You ready for my cock, sweetheart?"

"God yes! Want to feel you so bad, Juan Carlos."

He had to take a moment to collect himself, because her fevered plea was like a shock straight to his cock. It twitched against her leg and she wiggled. He made his way up her body, lingering here and there to lick or suck, and after a long kiss he reached for the box of condoms.

She took the little package from his hand and ripped it open. Rolled it up his erection while his head fell back on a hiss. "Tell me how much you want me, Juicy," she said.

"Goddamn, baby. I can't—don't think there're words big enough. So much."

She squeezed his cock and guided him to her entrance. Their eyes locked. Held. His mouth hovered over hers, and as he sank into her he swallowed down her gasp.

"Jesus Christ," she said. "Goddamn. It's just _sex_."

"I know." He kissed the tip of her nose. The spot on her chin that formed a dimple when she smiled. The little scrunch between her brows. "Believe me, Livvie, I know." He'd spent the last four years trying to drown himself in crow eaters and bar flies, and nothing had ever once compared to her. Nothing else was even in the same league.

The second he was inside her she knew she'd made a mistake. It was too much. Too perfect and too good and _maybe_ better than she remembered. But she didn't stop him. Instead she buried her face in the side of his neck and bit down on his shoulder.

"Fuck me, Juicy," she said. "Please."

"Yeah, baby," he whispered. "Exactly the way you like it."

She wrapped her legs around his thighs and he rocked into her. They both groaned, and she chanted a string of curses into the curve of his shoulder. Every time he moved his cock bumped across her clit, and it was still so sensitive from the orgasm she'd just had, and he felt so big inside her, so fucking deep—!

"Is that what you want, Livvie?" he said. He nuzzled her until she turned her head to look at him again, and his smile was soft and sweet. He nipped at her chin. The tender skin of her throat. "Is that what you like?"

"You know it is," she gasped. "Fuck you, Ortiz, you know it is!"

He smirked and kissed her, his tongue stroking against hers in the same rhythm his cock plunged in and out of her aching cunt.

"Who fucks you like I do, sweetheart?"

Her head fell back as she moved her hips to meet him. "Nobody! Nobody, Juicy!"

"That's right." He bit the corner of her jaw. "Because you're mine, Olivia."

"Yeah," she whimpered. "Yes, yeah, yes!"

"Say it," he rasped. "Say it, baby."

"I'm yours! Goddamn, Juicy, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours!"

"Fuck!" he cried. He'd thought he could hold on, but when he heard that it was too much, and suddenly he was coming, filling the condom with jet after jet as he bucked into her. "Fuck, goddamn, Livvie, Livvie, yes!"

He fell against her with a groan and rained kisses over her face and neck. Then winced as he realized— "Shit. You didn't come."

"I'm okay," she said. "I came before."

He gave her a look that told her exactly what he thought of that. He pulled out and got rid of the condom, then he was back. His mouth found one of her nipples and he stroked her clit with two fingers. "Sorry, baby," he said. "Wanted to feel you come on my cock so bad."

"We've got all night," she said between gasps. "Didn't you—God that's right just like that!—plan for at least three times?"

"At least," he said with a grin. He ran his fingers from her clit down to dip inside and back again, over and over, until she was shaking and moaning. "Mmmm, Livvie, good girl. Come for me, sweetheart."

She grabbed his hand and pressed two of his fingers inside, along with one of hers, and it was almost too much, but when he curved them to rub over her G-spot she let out a desperate cry. "Please, please, oh God don't stop like that yes, please!"

He groaned and sucked hard on her nipple, rolling the barbell with his tongue and tugging it a little with his teeth. She added another finger and his thumb scraped over her clit and the orgasm hit all in a rush, an electric shock that scrambled her brain and tightened her entire body.

"Good, good, that's it, that's so good," Juice said, his words muffled around her nipple, and the vibrations set off a fresh wave of shudders.

"God," she breathed. She dragged his fingers out of her and sucked them clean while he did the same to hers. They grinned at each other and dissolved into giddy laughter.

"Wow," he said.

"Seconded." She shifted a little and her mouth quirked. "My goodness. Already?"

"Gettin' there," he said. "Hopefully I'll last a little longer this time."

She kissed his nose. "Don't worry about it. It all worked out, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Juice. Seriously." Her hand closed around his shaft and she squeezed. "Don't worry about it." She touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue. "Can I use my mouth this time?"

He fell back against the pillows with a groan. "Would it be pathetic if I begged?"

"Not at all. You know I love it when you beg." She started to kiss her way down his body, but he stopped her a moment. She cast him a questioning glance and he grinned.

"I missed you, baby."

She smiled back and flicked her tongue over his nipple. "I missed you too, Juicy."

And it went on like that, the two of them re-learning each other after the years apart, teasing and exploring and worshipping. It ended up being more than three times—they lost count—and after they finally both collapsed into boneless, panting, exhausted heaps, he gathered her against him and buried his face in her hair. She'd changed her shampoo, but beneath it she still smelled like Olivia.

His Olivia. Liv. His girl. He finally had her back, and he'd be damned if he let her go again.

It was the last thought in his head as he drifted off for the first real sleep he'd had in as long as he could remember.

* * *

_Welp. I have ch4 written, and now I'm trying to decide how to proceed with ch5. I'm sure it'll all work out._


	4. Lovers

Thank you, as always, for the lovely words. I'm glad you're enjoying so far. :)

Buckle up, darlings.

* * *

**you'll be in love until it kills you both  
you'll fight  
and you'll shag  
and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver  
****[…]  
****love isn't brains, children  
****it's blood  
****blood screaming inside you to work its will  
**_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, 0308 "Lover's Walk"

Without opening his eyes, Juice rolled over and reached for her—to find her gone. He frowned. The pillow was still warm, and a few long red hairs were caught on it. He buried his nose in it to enjoy the newly-familiar scent of her hair and sneezed from the feathers. In the bathroom the shower came on.

He grinned and stretched out with his arms behind his head. How would she react if he joined her? She would probably like having her pussy eaten while she stood under the hot spray…

No better way to start the day, really. Coffee was severely overrated.

He didn't bother to knock, just strode straight in, pulled the curtain back, and climbed into the tub. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and sucked water off her shoulder. "Good morning, beautiful," he said.

For a second she melted into him, and he ran both hands up her body to cup her breasts and pressed his erection against her ass. "Mmmm, baby, gotta get my mouth on you," he murmured. "Wanna taste you as you come all over my tongue. Then I'm gonna take you back to bed and fuck you nice and slow."

She shivered. Then her body went tight and she turned around. There was tension around her eyes that gave him pause. "Sorry, Juicy," she said. "In kind of a hurry. Gotta get on the road, you know."

"Nothin' makes a long drive shorter like multiple orgasms," he said with a grin.

"Ahh…well, I can't really argue with that, but—" She ducked out of his arms and scooted around him.

"Okay," he said, frowning a little now. "At least let me help you wash all those hard to reach places. Or, maybe, your hair?"

"I'm good, actually. All clean. You finish up; I've gotta pack."

She stepped out and closed the curtain behind her. He stood beneath the pounding water and his frown deepened. What had just happened? Maybe she was feeling shy. Which seemed odd after last night, but…maybe in the light of the morning she remembered that they hadn't seen each other in almost four years, yet they'd done things to each other that…well. Very intimate things.

He rubbed a bar of soap over his entire body, head and face included, and rinsed as fast as he could. When he emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips and held in one loose fist, she was already dressed, and her overnight bag was almost full. She'd laid his clothes out on the bed, and for some reason he felt a vague, nagging sort of foreboding.

"Olivia?" he said.

"Hhmm?" She didn't stop; didn't look at him; she dropped to her knees to dig under the bed, and when she emerged she had her panties from last night clutched in her fist.

"Olivia!" he said again, sharper.

She sighed and spun toward him. "What, Juice? I'm kind of busy."

"Yeah, I see that. Where's the fire, Liv? It's barely eight. I thought we could have some breakfast. Hang out a little more."

"_Hang out_," she said, lifting a brow. "You mean _fuck_."

"I mean—yeah, maybe, if you were into it. But not necessarily. I really just meant _hang out_."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've really gotta get on the road. Long—"

"Drive. I know." He ducked his head and rubbed a hand back and forth over his scalp. "Olivia, is there somethin' goin' on here I don't know about? I thought after last night—"

Her brow furrowed and she took a step closer. "You thought what? One night could make up for four years? It doesn't work that way, Ortiz."

"_Make up_—? I didn't realize we needed to _make up_ for four years, Olivia. Yeah, it's a long time, but it's not like we spent it pissed at each other."

"Really?" she said. "You haven't been the least bit angry with me? Not once in all that time? Wow." She shook her head and shoved her makeup bag into the suitcase. "You're a better man than me."

He frowned at her back. "I mean yeah, I guess, maybe. But I got over it. I get why you ended it, Liv. We _were_ young, but—"

"_But_ what?" she said as she spun to face him. "What do you think is happening here, Juan Carlos?"

"You—you said last night—you said you missed me."

She sighed. "I did miss you, Juice. Of course I did. You were an incredibly important part of my life at one point. It'd be insane if I _didn't_ miss you."

"Yeah, but…" He trailed off and shook his head. Slowly it began to dawn on him that she was leaving. _Really_ leaving. He held up a hand. "Hang on, okay? Just gimme a sec. I can't have this conversation naked."

She gestured toward his pants and disappeared into the bathroom to gather her toiletries. He stepped into his shorts and trousers, zipping them but not bothering with the button.

"Olivia, look," he called, "let's just think about this, okay? You said it yourself last night: there's nothin' keeping me in Charming anymore. Your life's in Portland. I get that."

Her expression was inscrutable when she emerged. "What are you trying to say?"

"Just that—I'm willing to try it. I can come up there to visit, maybe you could come down here some. Then, after a while, if it works out…?"

"What, Juice? You can move to Portland? Leave your life here and just…?"

"Yeah!" He stepped closer, and he would've reached for her, but something about her face stopped him. "Yeah, Liv, that's exactly what I'm sayin'. You asked me last night why I never prospected for the MC? This's why."

"What? _Me_? What the fuck do I have to do with you and SAMCRO?"

He made a frustrated gesture. "I knew you didn't want to be an old lady, and I figured you probably wouldn't want to come back to Charming full-time. So…I was kinda waiting. I've been workin' a lot, savin' up."

"Waiting for me?" she said, astounded.

"Well—yeah." His brow furrowed. "Hoping, more."

"I never asked you to do that, Juice!"

"Of course you didn't. You would never—"

"I broke up with you! What about that made you think you should put your life on hold for me?"

"My life wasn't _on hold_, Olivia. I was making plans."

"Plans! Right. For _me_. What the fuck, Juice? Did you think after four years it would be that easy? You tell me all your _plans_ and I fall back into your arms?"

"You fell back into my arms pretty hard last night!" he snapped.

Clearly uneasy, she looked away. Made a big pretense out of rearranging things in her bag before she finally faced him again. "Last night was great, but it was—it was a mistake. I never meant for it to happen."

"Sure you didn't. That's why you wore matching purple underwear."

"My underwear choices have nothing to do with—"

"Olivia! I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not asking for any sort of commitment or promise. I'm just asking you to give us another shot! Don't you think it's worth it? After what happened—"

"It was goodbye sex, Juice!" She pressed a hand to her forehead and rubbed at the ache there. "That's it. Hot, sweaty goodbye sex."

He fell back in disbelief. "Goodbye sex," he scoffed. He surged toward her again, his temper finally getting the better of him. "Excuse me if I thought it felt a lot more like _hello_ sex. Which part was goodbye, Olivia?"

His voice went low and rough as he took her by the arms. "The part where you made me beg for half an hour before you sucked my balls dry?" He pressed his lips to her temple. "Or maybe when I bent you over the table and fucked you so hard your legs went numb." A nip to the corner of her jaw. "Or, I don't know, I guess it could've been when I made you squirt all over—"

"Okay!" she said. She jerked out of his grip and spun away. "I remember everything that happened last night, Ortiz, believe me. It doesn't change anything."

"It changes _everything_, Olivia! It was you and me. _Us_! Nothing's changed in four years. We're still the same."

"That's not true," she said. "You don't know me anymore. I don't know you. There's a huge difference between seventeen and twenty-two."

"I know the things that matter. You're still _you_. You're the still the girl I've been in love with since I was a dumb sixteen-year-old."

Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely zip up the overfull suitcase, but when he went to help her she stopped him with a sharp jerk of her hand. "No, I'm not," she said. "I'm really not."

"Okay, so, you dropped out of school. Got a tattoo and pierced your nipples and fucked some people. I got tattoos, too. I fucked people, too. Girls, as a matter of fact, so we've got that in common."

She let out a ragged sigh and tilted her chin toward him. "Juice—fuck." Slumping against the dresser, she buried her face in her hands. "I'm engaged, Juice."

For a second he was sure she was joking, or he misheard her. "Wha—?" He laughed. He couldn't help it. It was too absurd. Then he saw her face and he knew she wasn't kidding. "_What_?" he said, his voice going hard and cold.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"You fucking well _think_?" he cried. "That's the type of information I like to know about the women I sleep with, Olivia! Jesus Christ!" He paced away, gripping his skull with one hand as he tried to make sense of it. "You're engaged. You're _engaged_. You're fucking _engaged_ to be _married_. Till death do us _fucking_ part!"

"That's usually how it works, yeah," she said, weakly.

"What happened to too young? What happened to not wanting to settle down!?" he demanded as he spun toward her again.

"I told you!" She pushed off the dresser with an indignant scowl. "I _told_ you a lot changes in four years! I told you I wasn't the same person you knew!"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Olivia! I _do_ know you, and that's what scares you. It's what's _always_ scared you! I read you like a fucking book and you can't stand it!"

"You give yourself way too much credit, Ortiz. Maybe you _did_ know me, when I was a dumb high school kid, but I'm not that girl anymore."

"Are you pregnant? Is that what happened? You got knocked up so now you're marrying him for the kid?"

"No! Fuck you, Juice! I make my own goddamn choices. This is what I want!"

"What's his name?" he said like she hadn't spoken. "Or maybe it's not a guy. You marryin' a girl, Olivia? Is that what's goin' on? You're swearin' off dick, but you thought you'd give it one last go just to make sure?"

"Fuck you!" she said again. They were both yelling, up in each other's faces and screaming like they hadn't done since, maybe, that fight in the Cougar the day she accused him of telling their principal she was fucking their teacher. Ironic she should think of that…

"It's Ben," she spat. "Ben Collins."

He looked like she'd slapped him. "You're marrying Mr. Collins? Olivia, what the _fuck_? Why would you do that? Are you insane?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but we've been seeing each other over a year. A few months ago he proposed and I said yes. It's really that simple."

He gaped at her like she spoke Portuguese. "You—there's no ring. Did you take off your ring for the funeral, Liv? So you could fuck me and not feel guilty about it?"

She gritted her teeth and tried to control her fury. "He didn't _give_ me a ring. No ring, no elaborate wedding, no expensive honeymoon. We're saving for a _house_."

Somehow that was what made it real for him. A house. She was getting married. To someone else. To _Ben Collins_, for fuck's sake. She was going to settle down in Portland with Ben Collins in some cute little house and start popping out cute little kids.

He swallowed hard and scraped a hand down his face. "Do you love him?"

"What kind of question is that? I'm marrying him, aren't I?"

"That's not what I asked," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course I love him! Don't be ridiculous."

"Right. Love him enough to spend all night with me, us fucking each other's brains out, with nary a mention of your upcoming wedding!"

"I made a mistake, Ortiz. I'm sorry. I should have told you. Last night never should have happened. I just—I had to get you out of my system."

He grabbed her again, squeezing her upper arms until she yelped. "Am I, Olivia? Am I out of your system? Did it _work_?"

She said nothing, and his mouth moved in a grim smile.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Just goodbye sex, huh? You said it last night: you're _mine_. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

She shoved him away. "That was bedroom talk, Juice. We're _over_! We've been over _way_ longer than we were ever together. Get _over it_!"

"The tattoo!" he said, pointing at her.

Her face creased in confusion. "What? What about it?"

"Two goldfish, just like I won you that day. One orange, one black. They're _us_!"

"You're not black."

"Yeah. And you're fuckin' orange. You told me you got that tattoo right after high school graduation, which was almost six months after we broke up!"

"I like fish! I think you're reading a bit too much into it and giving yourself a little too much credit. After we split you didn't have enough influence over my life to affect the design I chose to get permanently etched into my skin!"

"Fuck you, Olivia! Fuck you and your self-righteous bullshit! You think I buy a word of that? Don't you know I've been waiting for you? This whole goddamn time I've waited for you, and you were off getting engaged to Ben _fucking_ Collins!"

"I never asked you to wait for me! Never once. I told you we were done. I told you we both needed to move on. What part of that was unclear?"

He gave a sharp jerk of his head. "You're the love of my life, Olivia, and I know you feel the same way!"

"You don't meet the love of your life at seventeen, Ortiz!"

"Oh, but you do at fourteen? Because that's how old you were when you met your fiancé. Or did you forget that part?"

She looked away, a frown between her brows. "That's different."

"Yeah, I know. Because you don't fucking love him!"

"You have no right to say that to me! None at all. You don't know me anywhere near as well as you think you do, and I'm sick of you thinking you have some sort of claim on me because of hot sex and promises we made when we were kids!" She yanked at the chain around her neck, and when the clasp finally gave she threw the necklace in his face.

"Move the fuck on, Ortiz. I have."

He caught it before it could hit the ground, and for a moment he stood frozen. She was halfway to the door before he checked back in, and he chased after her. Grabbed her elbow and pulled her around to face him. "Just tell me it's what you really want. Tell me last night meant nothing to you, and going back to Portland to marry Ben Collins is what you really want to do. Say that and we're through. Really, truly through."

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she'd gone pale beneath her freckles. "It's the life I'm choosing, Juice."

"That doesn't answer the question!"

"Last night was a mistake," she said again. "I should never have let it happen. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I made you think things were different than they are. I shouldn't have come at all."

He studied her face for a long time, the ache around his heart growing as the seconds ticked by. Finally he let go and took a step back. "You're right, Olivia," he said, a steely finality beneath his soft tone. "You should've stayed in Portland."

"Juice, I'm sorry—"

"Go," he said. "Just go. There's not really anything left to say, is there?"

Her teeth sank into her lower lip and the wetness trembled on her lashes before it tracked down her cheeks. With a strangled little sigh she reached for the door, and she'd just gotten it open when his voice stopped her.

"Don't come back here, Olivia," he said. "I don't think there's a place in Charming for you anymore."

"Yeah, Juice," she murmured. "Pretty sure you're right about that."

The door slammed behind her and he didn't move. Couldn't. He felt like she'd gutted him. The first time had been hard, but at least then—he'd known she still loved him. The timing just wasn't right, and maybe somewhere down the road they could have a second chance…

The ringing phone brought him around, and he moved sluggishly to answer it. A politely condescending voice asked him if everything were all right; they had received several complaints from nearby rooms about raised voices.

He snorted out a laugh. "Everything's fine," he said. "I'll be gone in a few minutes, and the yelling's over now."

"Very good, sir," the man said. "Have a wonderful day."

Juice's thoughts picked up where they'd left off like the interruption hadn't happened.

He and Olivia had their second chance, and it had blown up in his face. She hadn't lied to him last night, not about _him_. He _knew_ her, no matter what she said. He knew her touch. The taste of her. That one particular laugh she had when she was turned on and strung out with it.

"Fuck it," he muttered. What did any of it matter? She was gone, off to marry someone else. She'd made herself real fuckin' clear. He squeezed the opal in his fist and tucked it in his pocket. He'd throw it out later.

In the meantime he had a life to live. He fished his phone from his jacket and hit the button for Chibs' speed dial.

"Lad?" he said after several rings. Juice had clearly woken him up. "What's wrong, Juicy boy?"

"Nothin', Chibby," he said. "Sorry to call so early, just—I been thinkin'."

"Aye?" he said. Juice could hear the snick of a lighter, and then the draw and exhale as Chibs smoked. "What's up?"

"Were you serious all those times you offered to sponsor me? In the club, I mean."

There was a long pause. Finally, "Aye, lad, you know I was. But are you sure this's the best time to be makin' such a big decision?"

In his pocket his fingers tightened around the necklace. "Yeah, Chibs," he said. "I think it's the perfect time."

* * *

_my bbs :/_

_Anyway obviously this chapter sets the stage for the situation described in the summary, so. Here goes, I guess._


	5. Home Again

I thought about waiting till tomorrow to post this, what with the downtime and all, but I decided to go ahead and put it out tonight. See the end for some semi-important notes, and thanks as always for your kind words. :)

Yeah I went with the same quote as last time, sorta, bc it works so well.

* * *

**you're not friends**  
**you'll never be friends**  
**you'll be in love till it kills you both...**  
**but you'll never be friends**  
_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, 0308 "Lover's Walk"

**November 2009**

"This was a bad idea. Why the fuck did I let you talk me into this?"

Olivia could hear Tara roll her eyes all the way from Chicago. "Ollie! We talked about it roughly a million times. Yeah, I guess it could be a bad idea, but you won't _know_ until you _try_."

"But, Tara, he said—"

"I know. I know. He said _never come back to Charming_. But, come on. He was pissed. People say a lot of things when they're mad, and it was a long time ago."

Olivia sighed and hit her blinker before she turned down her new street in Charming. The house was halfway down the block, a Spanish style bungalow from the twenties, and as soon as Olivia saw it in person, her heart melted a little. She pulled in the driveway and cut the U-Haul's engine.

"I take it by the lack of noise you're finally there," Tara said.

"Yup." She took a deep breath. "So, look, I did it. I'm here."

"Now get out of the truck and go inside. Start moving your shit. Oh, and call Ope. He said he'd help."

"You've talked to Opie?"

"About Project Get Olivia Back to Charming? Yep. About anything else?" There was a pause, and Olivia knew _anything else_ meant Jax. "Nah, not so much."

"Hhhmm," she said, a low noise of disapproval.

"Oh my God. We're not talking about me now. Get out of the truck. Get your shit in the house and make your bed and call me tonight. You're not changing your mind about this. Got it?"

"What if he—"

"Ollie!"

Her mouth twisted. "Yes, ma'am. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Love you, bitch."

"You too, mega-bitch."

The last sound Olivia heard before she ended the call was Tara's scoff, and it made her smile. The expression faded as she considered the house. Most of her big stuff had gotten there ahead of her, yesterday, so her couch and bed and fridge should all be inside waiting. Still she had a daunting task ahead of her. Moving always was.

A mental to-do list began to form in her mind: call Opie. Move in her essentials, like dishes and sheets and towels. And a lamp would be nice. Hit the store for some food. Grab Chinese on the way home. Oh, also unpack books.

She dialed Opie's number, and he answered on the second ring. "You here?"

"I'm here. Where are you?"

"On my way, bossy pants. I'll grab Chinese."

She grinned. "That'd be great. See you soon."

She climbed down from the truck and made her way toward the house. It was in decent condition overall, but the yard needed work. Some tiles on the roof might need replacing. When she unlocked it and got the door open she smiled.

The floors needed refinishing, which she knew. She stepped onto the covered porch and then through to the small living room. Great fireplace, just like in the pictures. The kitchen cabinets were awful, but she'd known that, too. Everything needed fresh paint, and a couple of tiles were chipped in the bathroom.

Maybe new windows, too. These looked original. Wooden windows were expensive, but she didn't want to go with the ugly vinyl kind that wouldn't match the style of the house. Also the back deck was a hot mess. Maybe a complete tear down and rebuild.

Back at the front door she crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. "Perfect," she said aloud. _Plenty_ of projects to keep her occupied, and Opie had already agreed to help where he could. She imagined she could talk Jax into it, too, if only because he was always desperate for the little tidbits about Tara she sometimes let drop.

Olivia was in the workshop in the backyard when she heard Opie's bike. The space, she decided, would be perfect for her work, and it wouldn't even need much to make it suitable. Some fireproofing, maybe. The old wood looked dry, and that didn't really mix with a welding torch. She shut the creaky door behind her and headed toward the driveway, a smile brightening her face when she saw him.

He knocked the kickstand down and climbed off his bike before he closed her in an enormous hug. Lifted her off her feet and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Finally," he said. "Thought you were gonna chicken out at the last minute."

"Please," Olivia said with a snort. "I don't chicken out."

"Hhmm," he said, doubtfully.

She tugged his beard. "Just get the food and come inside, Winston. I hope you remembered utensils, because all of mine are still in the U-Haul."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. We'll get it after we eat."

She grinned. "Who's bitching? It's just a fact."

Inside he let out a low whistle. "You got some work to do, kid. These floors."

"I know, but I think the wood's still in good condition. Just a bit of refinishing, you know? And the original plaster on the walls looks good, amazingly enough. And look at the fireplace!"

He couldn't help but smile; her enthusiasm was contagious, and she'd loved this place since he first sent her the pictures of it. He'd been the one to tour it with the real estate agent, and he'd warned her about all the work it needed—but that only seemed to encourage her.

Her couch was plastic-shrouded, shoved against a wall, and Opie handed her the bags of food. "Just a sec," he said and pulled his knife. He sliced through the plastic, careful to avoid the fabric underneath, and then shoved the sofa into place.

"A little to the left," she said.

"Women," he muttered.

"Uh huh. That's what they all say, huh?"

"Somethin' like that." He took a step back. "Good?"

"Yep. Perfect. I'm gonna have to get some of those things to put under the feet so it doesn't scoot around and damage the floor."

He eyed her. "What the hell are you plannin' to do on this couch? Never mind. Don't tell me."

"_Sit_ on it, Opie. Perv. But couches move." She dropped down onto it and he sat next to her, and for a while they were busy unpacking the food. She grabbed an egg roll and added duck sauce before she took a huge bite.

"Mmmm, man, these are so awful," she said.

"Right? Nothin' like Two Dragons for shit Chinese food."

"Tastes like home," she said with a grin.

"Mmhhmm."

A silence fell while they ate. He stole a dumpling from her, and then gave her the shrimp from his house special fried rice. She forked up a bite of lo mein, then nearly choked when he spoke again.

"What'd Ben say when you told him you were moving back?"

She coughed and he handed her a bottle of water. "Uh…" she said after a long drink. "Not much. I mean, we've been divorced over a year now."

"But you did tell him, right?"

"Well yeah. We're still friends, mostly, so it would be shitty if I just took off."

"He know why?"

She twirled some noodles around her fork and let them slide off again. "Kinda hard for him to know why when I don't."

Opie snorted. "C'mon, Oll. That bullshit might work on some people, but I've known you almost our whole lives. Look, I get it: your marriage didn't work out, you didn't have any other ties in Portland, and you needed a change of scene. Question is, why Charming? You haven't been back here in, what?"

"Seven years," she said. "Juice's mom's funeral."

"Right. And it's kinda weird how Juice decided to prospect like the next day. He'd always said no before, like he was waitin' for somethin'."

She shrugged and set her food aside. "His mom didn't like the idea of him joining up. I'm sure he told you that."

"Uh huh." He took a bite of rice and chewed thoughtfully. "I know it's none of my business—"

"You're right, Opie, it really isn't." At his look she sighed and scrubbed a hand back through her short hair. She'd cut it off, chin-length, not long after her divorce was finalized, and she'd liked it so much she'd kept it that way. "I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. Juice is…Juice. We parted really badly, and I have no idea how he's going to react to seeing me again."

"I think he'll be happy."

She made a face.

"No, really. I think he will. I mean, don't really expect him to show it—but inside he'll be real happy."

"Hhmm." She ducked her head and a blush touched her cheeks. She could only hope. "What about you, Opie?" she said with an easy smile. "You happy I'm back?"

"Yeah, Oll," he said. "Real glad."

His tone was more serious that she would've expected, and her mouth opened to comment when he flashed a big grin. "Plus I think you raise property values. Famous artist moves in, everything skyrockets."

She laughed and the slightly awkward moment was broken so fast she thought she must have imagined it. "Please. I'm not famous."

"More famous than anyone else in town."

"That's not saying much," she said.

"True." He handed her the box of hunan beef as she passed him the mushu pork. "It's good, though. Good you're back. Pretty sure we all missed you."

"So," she said after another food-induced conversational lull, "how's Donna?"

He scowled and jabbed his fork into the container. "Fine, I guess. We talk some. Not much."

"Not as much as you'd like."

He didn't say anything. Then, "I don't blame her, you know? For any of it. She never really liked SAMCRO to start with, then after I went down for those five years—well. It was tough on her. She was a great wife. A great old lady. But there're limits."

"I'm sorry, Ope," she said. "I really thought you guys would make it."

"Yeah," he said with a sad little snort, "me too. Maybe you were right all along: you don't meet the love of your life at seventeen."

"I think I might've changed my stance on that."

"Oh yeah?" He cast her a curious look, and she shrugged.

"I think maybe you can meet the love of your life at any age. You don't have to love them from the moment you meet. People grow and change and feelings…feelings change, too."

"Huh," he said. He pointed at her with his fork. "Your feelings about Juice change a whole lot?"

"That's not—"

"Pretty sure it is."

She rolled her eyes. "Actually, yeah. I'm twenty-nine years old. Seventeen was a long time ago."

"Yup," he said in easy agreement. "But you ain't changed a whole lot."

Her eyes narrowed in a glare and she gathered the half-empty food containers. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm nothing like I was back then."

He hitched a shoulder and pressed the lid onto his before he handed it to her. "In some ways, yeah, but ultimately? You're still Ollie. Stubborn and kinda prickly and not…"

"What?" she said. She had forgotten about the food for a moment while she studied him. "Not what?"

He made a low noise of frustration and combed his fingers through his beard. "I dunno. Just not—not like other girls, I guess."

"Please." She dropped the last package into the bag and rolled it closed. "Don't try to compliment me by insulting other women. I hate that shit."

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I guess maybe, more, not like most _people_. I don't think anybody was surprised when you and Ben didn't make it."

There was a long silence while he watched her wrestle with it. Then, so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard her right, "I really thought I loved him."

"Maybe you did," he said. "But there're a lot of different ways to love somebody, and not all of 'em make a great marriage."

Her mouth quirked and she tugged his beard again. "When'd you get so wise? You grow some hair on your face and you think you're fuckin' Yoda."

"I dunno," he said, clearly embarrassed. "Just, like. When things with Donna fell apart, and then you told me about you and Ben—it's just been on my mind, that's all."

"What? Why relationships end?"

"Well, yeah. But more, like, what keeps them going. It's easy to figure out what brings people together. What _keeps_ them together, though? That's what I keep thinkin' about."

"Big questions, bud."

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands. "Just, like you said, I really thought me and Donna were gonna make it."

"Ope." She touched his arm and her hand lingered there. "You're a great guy. You know that, right? Just because your marriage didn't work doesn't mean you won't find somebody. I know Donna loved you, and honestly I don't think it fell apart because of either one of you. Sometimes things just don't work out."

"No, I get that," he said. "I really do. I wanna know why they _do_ work out. What's it take?"

"You're probably asking the wrong person."

"Tell me anyway. Your opinion."

She bit her lip and looked away, a furrow forming between her brows as she considered. "Well…I think you have to…you can't overlook someone's flaws. You can't love them _in spite of_ whatever, or even _because of_ whatever. You just have to love them, as they are, warts and all. Because all that shit, the baggage and the—the…" She waved a hand. "It's part of them.

"Like I know I couldn't be with you—or, um, Juice, I guess—without accepting SAMCRO. And you couldn't be with me without accepting what a pain in the ass I am, and kinda understanding that I'll always be at least a little bit…difficult."

"Yeah, Oll," he said, grinning. "Pretty sure I accepted that about you twenty years ago."

"Jerk," she said, but she was laughing. "You asked me a serious question!"

"I know, I know. Calm down."

He tossed an arm around her and dragged her closer. She let her head fall onto his shoulder and let out a quiet sigh. Some of the tension from the last few weeks started to drain away. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed a little.

"I'm glad you're here, Opie," she said.

He brushed a hand through her hair. "Yeah, Ollie. Me too. I'm glad you came home."

Olivia only sort of needed to work, thanks to the success of her sculptures, but that income was unsteady and varied wildly. Between buying the house and all the work it would take to get it fixed up, she needed a more reliable flow.

To that end she found herself at Teller-Morrow. Gemma knew she was coming; she'd called her yesterday to say she was back in town and to talk about a job. Olivia wasn't sure anyone else did, though, and that's what made her nervous. Had Opie told any of the guys she was back?

Had he told _Juice_?

She opened the car door and a familiar Scottish accent floated to her from across the lot. "I'd know that car anywhere!" he said. "Ollie lass!"

She climbed out and waved, but that wasn't good enough for him. He jogged over and caught her in a hug. "Hi, Chibs," she said. "It's good to see you too."

"Ope mentioned you might be by. Why didn't ye stop in sooner?"

"Oh, well." She blushed a little. "I was getting settled, you know. Moved in? And I didn't know…I mean…I just thought it would be better to wait."

He lifted a brow, but eventually he nodded. "Aye, well, glad you finally made it. You here for business or pleasure?"

"Business, I guess?"

He ruffled a hand through her hair. "I like this. Suits ye, darlin'."

"Thanks," she said. "Is Gem in the office? I'm actually here to see her."

"Aye, she is. Waitin' on you, pretty sure." He slid an arm around her waist and walked her that way. "Look at you, Ollie girl," he said, his voice dropping a bit. "You're all grown up."

"Chibs—"

"Ach, I'm not meanin' anything by it. Just an observation."

She made a low noise that could have meant any number of things. "Try to keep your observations G rated, okay?"

"I'm the very soul of chivalry, lass."

Her grin was wry as she pulled away from him. "I'm sure," she said. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Never change, Chibby."

He stared after her, too surprised to reply, as she disappeared into the office. Clearly Portland hadn't made her any less peculiar, and Chibs was glad to see it.

"Gem?" Olivia said as she pushed the door open. "Hey, Chibs said—oh fuck."

Juice lifted his brows at her. "Wow. Hello to you too."

"I thought—I'm looking for Gemma. Chibs said she was in here, and I—why are you here?"

"Why am _I_ here?" He shoved his hands into the pockets on his kutte and sauntered around the desk to lean against it. "I work here, Olivia. Better question is why are _you_ here? Don't you live in Oregon?"

If he could be an asshole so could she. She lifted her chin and stepped closer. "Not anymore."

His surprise didn't show on his face—much—but Olivia had known him a long time, and intimately, and she could see it in the tightening around his eyes. He looked good. He'd filled out more, all muscle it looked like, and he still had that mohawk—only he'd added two curving tattoos on either side of it. He had more ink on his arms, all grayscale of course, and she averted her eyes from the way the one on the left rippled over his bicep.

"Nice kutte," she said when he stayed silent.

"Thanks," he said. "Goin' on six years now."

The significance wasn't lost on her: they'd last seen each other seven years ago. He'd patched in a year later, officially through with waiting for her.

"So. You on your way somewhere? Just passin' through ol' Charming town?"

"No," she said, and a line appeared between her brows. "Opie really didn't tell you?"

"Maybe I wanna hear it from you." He pushed himself upright and closed the distance between them. Loomed over her in a way she'd never seen before.

She swallowed, suddenly nervous, and clenched her teeth. "I've moved here permanently," she said. "From Portland."

His eyes roamed her face. "Oh yeah?" he said. "How'd your loving husband take _that_ news?"

"I don't have a husband anymore, loving or otherwise. We've been divorced over a year."

He snorted. "Can't say I'm surprised. You can't base a marriage on _maybe I'll love him someday_."

She took a step back, anger flaring in her eyes. "It's not any of your business, Ortiz. I'm here to talk to Gemma. I don't have to put up with your bullshit."

"_Why_ are you _here_?" he demanded through gritted teeth. The muscles in his jaw danced, and she could tell from the tension in his arms that the hands in his kutte were clenched into fists.

"Gemma offered me a job," she said, mildly. "I thought I'd take her up on it."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered in disgust. "What the fuck, Olivia? You think you can just waltz back into town and everything'll go back to the way it was in high school? Us all workin' at TM like one big happy family?"

"Hardly," she said. "I've got no illusions about where I stand with you. I'm just here for a change of scenery, Juice. Try to restart my work."

His brow furrowed, and it was the first genuine expression she'd seen since she walked in. "Your sculptures, you mean?" he said, sounding more like his old self.

"Yeah." She waved a hand. "I've been sort of…stuck. About six months or so. It's—it's so fucking frustrating. I realized it was maybe Portland causing it. That whole scene. I needed something new."

"Or maybe somethin' old," he said.

"Maybe," she said.

He looked away with a scowl. "I went to that show you had. In San Francisco."

Her eyes widened. "What? I didn't see you there."

"Nah. You weren't around. I just went one afternoon and…" He trailed off with a tense jerk of his shoulders. "It was good. Your stuff, I mean. It looked real good."

"Oh." She ducked her head to hide a smile. "You don't have to sound so angry about it."

"I'm not—" He shook his head. "You shouldn't be here, Olivia. I told you before there's no place for you here anymore."

"I know you did, and at the time you were right." She studied him: his rigid posture. Tight jaw. Scrunched forehead. "I'm hoping maybe I can make a new place. If that's possible. Maybe start over a bit."

"You can't just start over. Life don't work like that."

"I know it doesn't," she said. "I was just hoping—"

"Well _stop_! Stop _hoping_, Olivia. There's no fucking point." He stomped toward the door to the garage and stopped with his hand on the knob. "You wanna live in Charming, fine. You want your old job back, I can't stop you. But just—don't think anything's changed between us."

"Don't give yourself so much credit, Ortiz."

He cast her a long look over his shoulder, and his mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "That's right," he said. "I got no effect on you at all." He chuckled. "Keep tellin' yourself that, sweetheart. Maybe eventually you'll believe it."

The door shut hard behind him, and Olivia had to fight the urge to cry. She _had_ hoped—maybe—it had been seven years. They'd both made new lives since then. She'd been married and divorced. He'd joined the MC and took on everything that went with it.

But somehow they were in exactly the same place they were that morning in her hotel room, only this time it was Juice who'd stormed out, leaving her alone and gutted. She pressed a hand to her belly and took a deep breath.

It didn't matter. She hadn't come back here for him. Not really. She was here to start sculpting again, and to fix some goddamn cars, and to reconnect with old friends.

Juice Ortiz was just another face in the crowd, and that was better for them both.

* * *

_First off, if something like today's blackout happens again, I'm simul-publishing this on ao3, where my pseud is copperleaves, and you can also find it on my tumblr, url stupidscalptattoos._

_A little note about the timeline:_

_If we go based on the date the show started as being the date canon picks up, then that would mean 2008, yeah? Well okay. That's all well and good. This chapter takes place in 2009 (as you can see), but I'm not following canon, per se. Like, yeah, we have all the canon characters and whatnot, but I honestly don't want to get into the plot quagmire that the show did. Maybe I might fold a few things in here or there if they suit me?_

_Also, of course, by this time Tara would've been back from Chicago, but she's not yet. And Abel isn't born yet, but he will be. I imagine at this point Wendy's pregnant? I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. :)_


	6. Pain

Hey, everything's working today. :) Make sure if you missed it bc of the late update yesterday that you read ch5.

Thanks for everything, m'loves.

Oh, I almost forgot: I added a bunch of new links to my profile, info and links to some other fic I don't have published here, so you might wanna check it out. :)

* * *

**pain it is a thing i can't explain**  
**i only feel it when you go away**  
**i'm waiting for you to return  
**Better Than Ezra, "It's Only Natural"

Olivia had been back in Charming a little over a week, and she'd decided early on it was best for everyone if she and Juice just stayed away from each other. She asked Gemma to work the schedule so that they weren't on together, and Gemma did so with a sigh and a frown and a look that clearly said _What did I tell you?_

Olivia ignored the look and did her best to concentrate on work. Work at TM, but also her own stuff. The change of scenery had helped, as had whatever was going on between her and Juice. Or wasn't going on. Whatever.

She worked the tension of it out through her sculpture, and the workshop was the first thing she'd gotten done. She and Opie had gotten the place cleared out, and Opie treated the wood with some fire retardant chemical stuff (it stank, and Olivia hadn't asked questions), and now she welded away, busy as a little bee.

When she wasn't at work either with her welding torch or at the garage, she spent most of her time with Opie. He was helping her with way more shit around the house than she'd ever expected, and she figured he was probably lonely. Jax had some weird co-dependent thing going on with his crow-eater-turned-wife, Wendy, and Opie wasn't all that into the crow eater scene as a whole.

They didn't talk much, which was fine with both of them, ad Olivia suspected he enjoyed the easy companionship as much as she did.

Opie was the reason she went to the clubhouse that day. He'd said something about maybe catching a movie after their shifts, but she'd decided she needed some quality time with her welding torch instead. The place was mostly deserted, but sometimes he crashed there when he had an early shift at the garage, or if he and Jax got a little too lit the night before.

She knocked on a few doors, but all the rooms were empty. Bobby was in the office balancing the books or whatever it was he did, and when she asked him he said he hadn't seen Opie all day. She was debating calling him when she nearly collided with Juice.

"Shit!" she said. He grabbed her arms to steady her as she stumbled. "Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I can tell." Neither of them made a move to go around the other, and they just stood in the hall, staring.

"Juice—"

"What are—" he said at the same time.

Smiling, she flicked her fingers. "Go ahead," she said.

His jaw tensed, and for a second she thought she saw—but then he shook his head. "I was just gonna ask what you were doin' over here. Not your usual haunt."

"For someone who tries so hard to avoid me, you sure do seem to care a lot about how I spend my time."

"Easier to avoid you if I know where you're gonna be," he said with an insouciant shrug.

"Good point." She slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels. "I was just looking for Ope. I need to cancel some plans."

"You goin' out with Opie now? Damn, Olivia, you work fast."

Her brows drew together. "We're not going out, Ortiz. Just—hanging out. He's helping me with my house, and, I mean—we used to be real close."

"Uh huh," he said. "I remember."

She made a brief noise of impatience. They'd dated for a little while in high school, before Juice moved to town, but they'd decided pretty quickly that they weren't right for each other. "Not that. I more meant before that, when we were friends. Neither of us are seeing anyone. His best friend is kind of distracted these days, and my best friend lives in Chicago." She lifted a hand. "It makes sense."

"It's fine," he said. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"Then why the fuck did you ask for one?" she said, her annoyance growing.

"Didn't," he said. "I just asked if you two were goin' out."

"For fuck's sake, Ortiz—" She cut herself off. "Never mind." The bathroom was just behind him. "I've gotta pee," she said and brushed past.

He grabbed her arm. "I thought we were talking."

"Were we? Kinda seemed to me like we were sniping at each other. Believe it or not, that isn't really my idea of a good time."

He glowered, but before he could say anything, she yanked her arm away and pushed into the bathroom. She hadn't had a chance to lock the door when it burst open, and her exclamation of surprise mingled with the sound of it slamming shut again. He twisted the thumb lock and did the hook and eye so she couldn't make another quick escape.

"You got a lot of nerve, Olivia. It's been seven years. Not a single goddamn word from you that entire time. Then you just come _waltzing_ in here—"

"I hardly waltzed, Juice."

"And think everyone can just pick up where they left off!"

"Well considering we left off in a huge screaming match, it seems like I was right." She surged closer. "You think I owed you something? You told me to never come back. You told me—why the fuck _would_ I try to call or write or any of that shit? What would've been the point?"

"Damn straight you owed me somethin', and a hell of a lot more than a goddamn phone call," he growled.

"Juice! Are you fucking kidding me? You practically said you never wanted to speak to me again."

He gritted his teeth. "What did you expect me to say, Olivia? I woke up after one of the craziest, most amazing nights of my life to find you running for the door. You told me you were engaged. You told me it was _goodbye sex_."

"I remember what I told you," she said, unable to meet his eyes.

"You shouldn't have come back here. Really."

"Maybe I shouldn't!" she said. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere, so it's probably time you quit pouting like a pissy little bitch and start acting like an adult."

"_I'm_ a pissy little bitch?"

"You're doing a damn fine impression of one! And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I know you aren't calling me a pissy little bitch, because up until you started acting like such an asshole I was being perfectly nice to you."

"I don't want you to be _nice_ to me!" he cried. "Why the fuck would I want you to be _nice_? Goddammit, Olivia. If I wanted nice I'd go find a crow eater. I'd go pick up some cute piece of ass in a bar. You and me were never _nice_. Why would I want that now, when every time I see you I just want—" He broke off and jerked away, but she grabbed a handful of his kutte to drag him back.

"You want what? To strangle me? To slap me? To fuck me?"

"Yes!" He pushed her against the sink, his hands urgent and careless on her arms. "Yes, goddammit, and maybe all three at the same time."

"Get your hands off of me, Juan Carlos. _Now_."

He sneered at her but pushed away. "I don't know why the fuck I even bother. You got this idea in your head, Olivia. This fucked up idea of what love should or shouldn't be, and if somethin' doesn't match with that it flips you the fuck out."

"I don't even know what that means," she said, but her voice shook and he thought maybe she did.

"You ended things between us because you said we were too young. We didn't know how we really felt, and we couldn't because what did we know about love and relationships?"

"I know—" She bit her lip around a sigh. "At the time I believed that. I didn't know anything about being in love. You were the first—"

"The first?" he said when she didn't continue. "Or the only?"

"Fuck you, Ortiz," she said, low and hot.

"Seems like that hit a nerve. What did you think, Olivia? That you'd put on that white dress and walk down the aisle and then one morning you'd wake up and magically be in love with Ben _fucking_ Collins?"

He erupted toward her again, crowding her against the sink, and though he didn't touch her, the look in his eyes was like a rough caress. "Love don't work that way, baby. You and me? We were something. We fucking _burned_. We set each other on fire. _That's_ love. That's the kinda heat and blood and fury that makes you alive."

Her breath left in a hard rush, and she pressed a hand to his chest to ward him off. "When did you get to be such a poet?"

"I've had a long time to think about it," he said through a clenched jaw.

"That really doesn't sound like a lot of fun, Juice."

"I don't know, Olivia." He rubbed the heel of his hand over the heat between her thighs in an angry, almost violent stroke that took her breath away. "You always seemed to enjoy it."

He didn't move his hand, just held it against her, his eyes snapping fire. Her mouth fell open on a hungry grasp as he ground his palm into her. She had both hands braced on the sink behind her and her face was flushed almost crimson. He flashed a smug grin and pulled back.

"Pretty sure you just proved my point," he said.

She snapped back into focus and glared at him. "You fucking well _wish_. I haven't gotten laid in a while. That's it."

He dropped his palms onto the sink and used his body to shove her against it. She had to crane her neck to see his face, and the hands she brought up to drive him away somehow ended up gripping him close instead. He dropped his chin to brush his nose along the side of her face.

"That's what it is, baby?" he said in a rasping whisper. "That's all? Just a dry spell? That's what's got you shakin' in my arms, practically ready to rip my clothes off?"

"You need to move, Ortiz."

"Make me, Olivia." Their eyes met, and he grinned big enough to crinkle them at the corners. "All you gotta do is push, sweetheart. One little shove and I'm gone. You know I'd never really hurt you." He ground his pelvis into hers and his face turned hard. "Unless you begged me."

The green disappeared from her eyes as her pupils went huge. "Juice—"

He skimmed his lips up the line of her throat and over her mouth, not quite touching, and hovered there. "Say it, Olivia. I wanna hear you say it."

"I won't," she breathed. "I can't. You know I can't."

Smirking, he drove his thigh between hers; he had her nearly bent backwards over the sink, and now she had nowhere else to go. "Bet that dry spell's just a memory now, huh?" He bit her throat and sucked until she moaned. "Ain't nothin' dry about you, baby."

He licked the spot he'd bitten and blew a cool stream of air over it. "_Say it_, goddammit. Tell me how much you want me."

Her palms flattened against his chest, and she shoved him backwards as she straightened. "I want you, Ortiz! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? My nipples are hard—"

"I can see that."

"And I'm surprised there's not a wet spot on my jeans and I fucking well _want you_." She drove him back into the door nearly hard enough to take his breath. "But I am not letting you fuck me in a goddamn bathroom. I'm not having a quickie perched on a sink. You hear me? If you want to fuck, then we're doing it right."

"Oh?" he said, squirming and breathless. He grabbed her wrists and used them to herd her against the sink again. "You mean like last time? Get a nice hotel room and fuck all night?" He let out a humorless chuckle. "Seems to me we have pretty shit luck with hotels."

Her eyes widened and color flooded her face. "How dare you! You have no right to—"

He kissed her then, capturing her mouth with his and forcing his tongue between her lips. "Maybe let's try a bathroom instead," he mumbled against her skin.

"Fuck you, Ortiz," she gasped.

"Uh huh." He yanked her shirt over her head, tugged down the cups of her bra, and wrapped his lips around a nipple. "That's the general idea."

Her body arched on a soft cry and her nails dug into his scalp. He swirled his tongue over the sensitive nub; tugged the barbell with his teeth; sucked it so hard she knew he'd leave a mark.

She shoved at his shoulders until he looked up at her with a scowl, but when she went to push his kutte off he shook his head. "Leave it," he said.

"Juice—"

"Fucking leave it, Olivia." Then his mouth was working her other nipple and she forgot to protest. He fumbled with the button on her jeans, and the grate of the zipper seemed loud over her harsh, panting breaths.

He lifted her onto the sink and hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties. "Hope you aren't too attached to these," he said.

"Don't—"

Too late. The cotton tore with a satisfying _rip_, and he tossed the scraps away. He spread her knees and dropped down to kiss up the inside of her thigh.

"God you're so fuckin' pretty, Olivia. So sweet. Mean as fuck and taste so good."

"I'm not mean, Ortiz," she said between gasps.

He trailed his tongue up her slit and her head fell back on a groan. His brow furrowed in a question and he spread her lips. Stared a moment before his face lit up in a blinding grin.

"Well, well. You got a secret, baby." She'd gotten a new piercing since the last time he'd had occasion to play with her pussy: this one through her clitoral hood, a curved little rod with silver balls on either end.

She smirked down at him and skated a hand along his mohawk. "You gonna stare at it or play with it, Juan Carlos?"

"Mmmm," he said, a lusty groan, and flicked the tip of his tongue across the top ball, which caused the one nestled against her clit to wiggle.

"That's good," she said. Then, "Fuck, like that!" when he pressed his tongue to it and made it dance and bounce on her clit.

He bit the inside of her thigh and stood up. Hauled her closer by the hips and bared his teeth in a grin. "I like you like this, baby. Your jeans around your ankles. Your face all red and your skin all hot and your pussy all wet." He bit her shoulder. "Reminds us both who you really belong to."

She hissed. "I'm not _yours_, Ortiz. Pretty sure you gave up that claim when you told me to go away and never come back."

His smile turned thoughtful. He leaned over a little to rummage through the cabinet above the toilet, and when he got back he had a familiar package between his fingers. He undid his belt; pushed his pants and shorts down just enough to free his erection; and rolled the condom down its length.

He grabbed her again, his fingers rough on her soft skin. "Nah," he said, and thrust hard into her eager cunt.

She cried out and tightened her knees around his hips. He adjusted the angle until she moaned, then set a rough, driving rhythm.

"That's it!" she said. "Right there, please, just like that!" Every time he plunged into her his cock hit her clit and the piercing rubbed just the right way, in just the right spot.

"You like that, baby?" he breathed, dropping artless, sucking kisses up and down her throat. "You love the way I fuck you, don't you? Can't get enough, even after all this time."

"Yes," she whimpered. "Yeah, Juicy, yes, it's so good!"

"Gonna make you come so hard, Livvie, so goddamn hard. Gonna make sure you never forget me again." His voice was a drunken rasp, and she felt the heat building through her thighs and belly. He reached between them to flick the piercing with the tip of his finger, over and over so that the bottom ball moved in counter-rhythm to his thrusts.

"Oh God!" She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. The scent of him filled her: sandalwood and cigarettes and the warm leather of his kutte. A tinge of metal from the shop and a man's clean sweat. "Don't stop," she breathed. "Don't stop, don't stop, so good, need you so bad—!"

"I know you do. Fuck, baby, fuck, you feel so good!" When she lifted her head again he kissed her, his free hand tangling in her hair and tugging just a little. They swallowed each other's moans and their breath mingled until they were both dizzy and giddy.

She tried to hold on. She didn't want to come yet; it felt so fucking good and she had a feeling her orgasm would lead shortly to his and then it would be over; but she couldn't. It swelled and crested like a wave, and finally she gave in to it. "Juicy, Juice, oh God like that please please please!"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, that's right, that's it, come all over my big cock, come for me, baby, come for me!"

She muffled her cries in his shoulder and he drove into her with hard, uneven jerks as she clenched around him again and again. His finger against the piercing made her shudder helplessly, and the last bit of his control snapped.

"Fuck!" he groaned, breathlessly and almost silent, and filled the condom in a scalding rush that left his knees weak and his head spinning. "Fuck, Livvie, Jesus Christ, goddamn."

They fell against each other, panting and gasping, and shuddered through the trail ends of it together. He kissed her temple. Licked at a trickle of sweat there. Finally she dragged in a long breath and lifted her head.

"You called me _Livvie_," she said.

His face scrunched in confusion. "What?" He pulled away and tugged the condom off; tied up the end and tossed it in the trash. He fixed his pants with his back to her, and she bit her lip over a frown.

"It's the first time you've called my anything but _Olivia_ or, maybe when you're pissed, _baby_ or _sweetheart_ since I got back."

"Oh," he said. He turned toward her, his mouth curved in a smile she didn't recognize—and she thought she knew them all. "Just bedroom talk, Olivia. You know how it is."

She blinked. "Um. What?"

He leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead, and for a moment she couldn't really process what was happening. Then he was undoing the locks and she shook herself awake.

"You're leaving?"

He cast her a look over his shoulder, that same weird smile transforming his expression, and shrugged. "Sorry, baby," he said. "Just needed to get it out of my system." He pushed the door open and stepped out, and just before it closed he peeked around it.

"Might wanna lock up behind me. At least until you get yourself put back together again." His eyes raked her up and down. "As it is you look like you just got well and thoroughly fucked." With that parting shot he shut the door and was gone.

Her mouth fell open and she stared at it like she'd never seen a goddamn door before. What had just happened? She slid off the sink and wet a paper towel to clean herself up a little. Fuck, she was going to be sore later. She tugged her jeans back into place. Fixed her bra and grabbed her shirt from the corner. Her panties were a shredded mess, and she just shoved them into her pocket.

Her legs were still shaky, so she closed the toilet lid and sat down. She tried to even her breathing, but it was no use: instead she gulped in great gusts of air and though she knew she was in danger of hyperventilating, she couldn't help it. She bent double to dangle her head between her knees, and slowly the panicked, dizzy feeling ebbed.

"Well," she whispered to her shoes. "I guess maybe I deserved that."

* * *

_*sigh* These two._

_I honestly have no idea what's going to happen next. :) I mean, I know the story's general direction, but details? Nahhh._


	7. Violent Ends

Thanks for the reviews, guys. :) And hopefully this chapter will give a bit more insight into why they're acting the way they are...

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**These violent delights have violent ends**  
**And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,**  
**Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey**  
**Is loathsome in his own deliciousness**  
**And in the taste confounds the appetite.**  
**Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so.**  
**Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.**  
William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_ 2.6.9-15

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the knock came. She raised her head and shook back her hair and ripped off some toilet paper to wipe her face. "Sorry, almost done," she called.

"Ollie?"

She slumped against the back of the toilet. Opie.

"Juice said you were lookin' for me. He seemed kinda—weird. Everything okay?"

She stretched forward and twisted the knob, and as the door swung open and he got a look at her, Opie's eyes widened.

"Olivia, what—?" He hurried into the small room and shut the door behind him. He filled the space near to bursting, but somehow he wedged himself in front of her and knelt. "What happened?" he said, so gently it set off a fresh round of tears.

"I fucked up, Opie. I fucked up so bad. He hates me now and I can't even blame him. He _should_ hate me! After what I did? I'd hate me too!"

"Hang on, wait, hang on." She was crying and nearly incoherent, and he had trouble understanding her between the sniffles and the hiccups. He wet a washcloth with cold water and brought it back to press against her face. "Just breathe," he said. "Try to breathe. Tell me what happened."

She took the washcloth from him and pressed it to her eyes. "Did he ever tell you what happened after his mom's funeral?"

"No," Opie said. "Don't think he told anybody. Just called Chibs up the next day and said he wanted to prospect."

Olivia nodded and let the rag fall to her lap. "We spent the night together. Um. A really, really good night."

"Huh." He fall back onto his ass and brought his knees up so he could prop his arms on them. "Weren't you already engaged by then?"

"Yep," she said, her tone bitter. "Less than a month away from getting married, and I spent the night with my high school ex."

"Olivia." He sighed. "Jesus. So I guess you told him about Ben?"

"The next morning. Needless to say he didn't take it well, which, I mean. Why would he?"

His chin dropped to his chest and he shook his head. "That explains a few things. Like why he's never mentioned you once in the last seven years, even when we all found out about your divorce."

"I never meant to hurt him, Opie. I came to the funeral to say goodbye to Ms. Ortiz and maybe just check in with all the rest of you. I absolutely didn't meant to sleep with him, and I had no idea he was still in love with me."

"Funny," Opie said with a snort, "since you were still in love with him."

Her mouth fell open, but he waved her quiet. "You ever think you fooled me? Even once? You told me you were gettin' married and I didn't say a goddamn word because it's your life and your decision, but for fuck's sake. You never loved Ben. You didn't love him when we were kids, and you didn't love him when you married him."

"So, what? I should've just fallen back into it with my high school sweetheart like the four years before that hadn't happened? Like I was still the same person who wanted the same old life in Charming being a biker's old lady?"

He tugged at his beard and looked away. "No," he said. "Of course not. But it seems like marryin' Ben Collins was kind of—it was kind of like goin' back, too. Rather than movin' forward. And, look, I don't wanna be condescending, but—I'm so fuckin' proud of you, Ollie. The shit you've done with your art? It's fuckin' incredible, like really."

He hauled in a breath and let it out, and she waited while he decided what he wanted to say. "I feel like _that_, your art and shit, is your real life. That's how you kept goin' forward. Your marriage was a way to keep you, sort of…fuck, I sound like a moron."

"No." She touched his knee. "No, please, go on. I want to hear what you think."

"Just—" He lifted his hands in frustration. "You married Ben Collins, of all the people on the planet, because he was a part of your past that made you feel stable. When TJ fucked everything up for you, Ben pulled you out of it. You thought it was—I don't know. The safe thing to do, like he would keep you safe, but it was bullshit. You aren't really the type of woman who likes shit _safe_."

She dropped his eyes and twisted the washcloth around her fingers. "So I guess that's why I just let Juice fuck me on the sink, huh?"

"You did _what_?" he said, his voice rising on each word until he was nearly shouting. "Olivia, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking, Opie. I never am around him. That's why I always get myself into trouble when it comes to Juice Ortiz."

He scowled. "Do you want him back, Oll? Is that why you came back to Charming?"

"I don't know," she said. "I thought—I thought maybe there might be…some tiny chance. Not of us just picking up, but of…rebuilding? Kind of starting over?"

His expression softened. "I guess he wasn't too crazy about that idea."

"I didn't tell him," she said. "Any of it. I haven't told him anything. Not why it ended with Ben or why I slept with him seven years ago or why I had to leave. He doesn't seem all that inclined to listen to me anyway, and what does it matter? I hurt him. I know that. Maybe I deserve—everything."

"Olivia," he said, "what did he do? Why are you in here crying?"

She sniffled and crumpled up the damp scrap of toilet paper. He tore off another one and handed it to her. "Well, first." She let out a shaky laugh. "I enjoy sex, Opie. All different kinds of sex. And I've had a lot of sex in my life, in a lot of different situations, including—yeah, okay, this isn't the first time I've had a rough and dirty fuck in a bathroom."

Opie shifted a little and looked away. "Umm, Oll—"

"I'm just saying, okay? I've had a lot of sex, and yet I've never felt quite so…_fucked_ before. Does that make sense?"

"Maybe, uh—maybe you should explain."

She swiped at her face with the tissue. "He didn't take his clothes off, except just to pull his pants down, but while it was happening I thought—he called me _Livvie_, which he only ever calls me when we're—and it seemed like he really—but then when it was over he just pulled his pants up and walked out, and before he went he told me—" She broke off and buried her face in her hands to muffle a sob.

"Hey," he said. He brushed his palm over her hair in an awkward attempt to comfort her. "Hey, don't cry. Tell me what he said, Oll. Don't cry anymore."

"He said he was just getting it out of his system," she said without lifting her head. "I told him the same thing the morning after, but I think he actually really meant it. And he said it so _mean_, Opie, just like this…and the way he _looked_ at me…I've never felt like a whore before, Ope, even with all those rumors and shit TJ spread about me, but that's how he looked at me. That's how he made me feel."

"Oh, Ollie," he said on a sigh. He pulled her off the toilet and onto the floor between his knees so he could wrap his arms around her. She pressed her face against his shoulder and cried until his work smock was soggy. He rested his cheek on the top of her head as her sobs finally started to die down.

"You're not a whore, Olivia. If he made you feel that way then he's the asshole. His dick was just as involved, and if he had sex with you as, like, some sort of _punishment_—that's fucked up. Like real, real fucked up."

"I don't know, Opie. What would you do if it were you? What if Donna suddenly showed up and you guys had a night of torrid passion, then the next morning she told you she was marrying someone else? How would you react?"

He blinked at her. "I'd be mad, yeah, but…" He frowned. "I know that Donna wouldn't ever do somethin' like that to hurt me. Intentionally, I mean. Sometimes things happen, especially when there's a lot of heat and leftover feelings. That's what went down with you and Juice, right?"

"Yeah," she said. "I never wanted to hurt him, Ope."

"I know that." He cupped her face and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. "He knows it too; he's just bein' an asshole because his pride's all bruised and shit."

"So what do I do?"

He kissed her forehead, and she scrunched her face as his beard tickled her skin. "Nothin', babe. You don't do a fuckin' thing. Steer clear of him. Right now he's lashin' out like a pissed off baby, and if you try to do anything—even apologize or explain—he's just gonna hurt you again."

"I was trying to steer clear before," she said with a rueful smile.

"I'll talk to him."

"Ope, no, I don't—"

"I know you don't, but I'm gonna talk to him. He needs to hear a few things, I think."

"If he thinks I sent you—"

"Please, Ollie. He knows better than that." He lifted her to her feet. "Move," he said. "I gotta have room to stand up."

She stepped over his leg and scrunched herself into the corner beside the sink. "I don't think this room was really made for somebody your size."

"I fit in here just fine. It's you takin' up all the space."

"Right, gigantor," she said. "You keep tellin' yourself that." She held out a hand and he stared at it a moment.

"Seriously?"

"What? I'm stronger than I look."

Rolling his eyes, he slid his palm into hers. She braced her feet and helped haul him up. "See? Didn't even hit your head on the towel bar or anything."

He mussed her hair and grinned. "Tiny but useful," he said. "Good to know."

"Suck it, Winston. I'm short, not tiny."

"Okay. Whatever you say." His expression sobered and he took the washcloth from her to dab at her face again. "Hang out over here, okay? In one of the dorms or the office or something. I'll be back after I talk to Juice to take you home."

"I can drive myself, Opie. I'm upset, not an invalid."

"Oll, please? Just humor me?"

She glowered down at her boots, but finally she gave in with a reluctant nod. "Whatever," she said. "As long as you plan on picking me up for work tomorrow, that's fine."

"Thank you, O gracious one. I'll be back in a little bit."

"Opie," she said as he reached for the door. "Don't—I mean, don't _hurt_ him, okay? He's just angry."

"Juice Ortiz is a big boy, Olivia. I think he can handle whatever I got planned."

* * *

Opie wasn't at all sure Juice could handle what he had planned, but at that moment he didn't particularly give a fuck. He didn't think he'd ever seen Olivia cry: not when her mom died, not when TJ devoted his life to torturing her, not when she thought she might go to jail for killing him. She just didn't _cry_.

At least not around him.

What she'd said shook him to the core, because he knew what she'd gone through in high school—and Juice did too, which made it that much worse. He had no right to treat her that way. No right to make her cry. And Opie was going to take it out of his hide.

He found him in the garage, finishing up an oil change, and he jerked his chin at Half Sack. "Give us some room," he growled, and Sack dropped what he was doing and bolted.

Juice turned to face Opie with a wary nod. "Ope. What's up, man?"

He didn't say a word, just hauled back his fist and sent it crashing into Juice's face. He staggered and fell against the car, and Opie grabbed him by the t-shirt to keep him upright. He hit him again, even harder, and then a third time. A cut opened on his cheek and Opie's knuckles split and Juice shoved away from him to spit blood.

He bent double, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. "Jesus fucking Christ, Ope! What the fuck?"

"Stand up, you miserable little shit. Stand the fuck up, because I'm not done with you!"

He staggered to his feet and took a swing. Opie dodged it and connected hard with Juice's stomach. His breath left in a rush and he thought he might vomit.

"Enough!" he said. "Tell me what the fuck's goin' on."

"As if you don't know. You're the one who sent me to find her!"

Comprehension dawned through his rattled brain and he let out a rusty laugh. "I guess she told you what happened."

"No shit she told me."

"All of it? She tell you what happened seven years ago?"

Opie dragged him up by the collar. "Yeah, asshole, she told me that too." He pushed Juice against the car and jerked away in disgust. "You always said you know her so fuckin' well, that she's like an open book or some shit, and you don't know why she did it? You got the balls to treat her like she's somethin' dirty, or less than you?"

"I never—"

"Bullshit. That girl don't rattle easy, and when I found her she was a goddamn mess. She cried all over me."

Juice smirked, and his teeth were red. "You told me once lettin' her cry in your arms was the fastest way to her shit list."

"She's not seventeen anymore, dumbass. She's an adult, and you're supposed to be, too. I get that she hurt you, but you got no right to treat her like that."

"I got a right to treat her any way I want!" Juice cried, anger driving him upright. "She came back here and she fucked me knowin' full well she had a fiancé waitin' for her back in Portland, and she didn't feel like it was important to mention until the next morning. Fuck that and fuck her!"

"You mad because she had a fiancé and didn't tell you, or because you just assumed she would come runnin' back to you and then you felt like the fucknut you are when you found out the truth?"

He looked away with a scowl. "Fuck you too, man. You don't got a fuckin' clue."

"About what, Ortiz? What am I so clueless about? Ollie? Because in case you forgot, I've known her a lot longer than you have, and guess what? I loved her first."

Juice snorted, then winced at the pain in his nose. "You _liked_ her, Ope. You know how I know you didn't love her?" At Opie's look his mouth curved in a pained grimace. "Because you got the fuck over it. Look at the facts, brother: Ben Collins was her teacher. Nine years older. He fell in love with her, and when she showed up in his life years later he went and married her. I fell in love with her and now I'm a fucked up mess over it. You? You're fine. Walkin' and talkin' and livin' your life."

He shook his head and stretched his shirt up to dab at the cut on his cheek. "You never loved her, bro. Trust me. I know the damage she does, and you ain't got none of it on you."

"You need to get over yourself. Seriously. All I'm hearin' is how she hurt you. How you loved her so goddamn much. Whine, whine, whine. Bitch and moan.

"What about _her_? You ever stop and think what musta been goin' through her head so that she married someone she didn't love, and stayed married to him for five years? You ever consider that it mighta been just as hard on her to walk out as it was for you to watch her go?"

"Bullshit!" Juice said. "She didn't have to go. She coulda stayed. She could've left him!"

"For some guy she hadn't seen in four years? Come on, man. That sound like her? Leave the sure thing she had with Ben, however much she might be freakin' out about it, to remake her life for her high school ex?"

"I loved her! I loved her and she loved me and that's all that should've mattered!"

"You are so fucking stupid, Ortiz. You think she trusts love for any goddamn thing? You think she's gonna risk everything for _love_? _Her_? If you think that then you don't know her at all."

"Goddammit." He raised shaking hands to his face and scraped them back over his skull. Tears formed in his eyes and he gripped his head like he was afraid it might split open. "I just wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her like she hurt me. I wanted her to know what it felt like."

Opie crossed his arms over his chest. "Congratulations, dickhead. You got your wish."

He sagged back against the car and tears mixed with the blood on his face. "She's got me so fucked up. It's been seven goddamn years, and when I saw her it was like—it was like time just fucking stopped. I felt exactly like I did that morning when she walked out, and I was so goddamn pissed."

"It's not her fault you can't move on. Stop tryin' to take your shit out on her. You really love her? Then leave her the fuck alone. She's tryin' make a new life. Rebuild after her marriage fell apart." He hesitated, unsure how much he should say, but then plowed ahead. "She tell you the trouble she was havin' with her art shit?"

"Yeah. Said it was part of why she came back."

Opie gave a curt nod. "She's workin' again. Started up not long after she got moved in. You keep fuckin' with her, you think that's gonna be good for it? You remember what happened when she was with TJ, don't you?"

"You comparin' me to TJ Flanary?" Juice said, his face scrunched in disbelief.

"Seems to me you and him got a few things in common these days." He let out a rough sigh and relented a little. "You're better than that, brother. I know you are. But if you can't be around her without wantin' to pull shit like you did today, then you need to steer clear. Don't speak to her. Don't go near her. Just stay the fuck away."

"I was tryin'—"

"Try. _Harder_," Opie said through gritted teeth. "Another stunt like this and I might forget you're a better guy than TJ Flanary. I might forget we're brothers. I don't think either of us wants that, and I know Olivia doesn't." He stepped closer. "She told me not to hurt you. I told her I was comin' to find you, and she said not to, then when she couldn't change my mind she told me not to hurt you because you're just _angry_."

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Yeah. You think she did what she did because she hated you, or out of spite? Fuck that. That's apparently _your_ game; not hers."

Juice winced, but he couldn't really argue. Sometimes love got so poisonous, so painful, that it started to feel like hate. He didn't want that to happen between him and Olivia, and he knew if he kept fucking with her, if he kept obsessing over her, it would be inevitable.

"You think I should try to apologize?" he finally said.

"I don't know. You gonna mean it? You gonna use it as another excuse to fuck with her?"

He didn't answer, and Opie shook his head.

"Save it until you mean it. Otherwise just keep your mouth shut." He sighed. "Come on, numbnuts. In the office. I'll patch up your face."

"Yeah, Ope," Juice said, falling in step behind him. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Opie said. "Dipshit."

* * *

_Honestly he needed to have some sense knocked into him._


	8. Again

Longer chapter than usual today...much longer...but c'est la vie.

Thanks as always for your kind words, loves. :)

* * *

**don't you ever want to lose control?  
wake the sleeping beauty in your soul?  
darling, first i need to ask your name  
then if you'll ever fall in love again  
**Eliot Morris, "Will She Ever Fall in Love Again?"

Opie's message must have gotten through, because it was days before Olivia saw Juice again. When she finally did he had several butterfly bandages on his cheek, a healing bruise around his eye, and a split lip. She knew she should stay away, but she didn't want him to think…

"Hey," she said, quietly, as she sidled closer.

He cast her a quick look over his shoulder and grabbed an oil filter off the shelf. "Hey," he said.

"I'm sorry about your face. I told Opie—"

"It's fine," he said. "I deserved it." He turned to face her and took a breath.

"What?" she said at his expression.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. _Wait until you mean it_. "Nothin'," he said. "I should…" He held up the filter and nodded toward the garage.

"Yeah," she said and took a step back to let him get by. "See you around, Juicy."

He managed a tight smile. "You too, Oli—Liv."

Her brow furrowed, but before she could say anything he was past her and gone. Well. It was a start. They'd had a conversation, however brief and stilted, without either one insulting the other. He'd called her _Liv_. Maybe they had a chance to reach some sort of civility between them.

It went on like that for weeks. They only ever saw each other in passing, while he was on his way to do some club business or when they changed shifts, and they greeted each other cordially but formally.

One night after a long shift Olivia was in the clubhouse trying to decide if she wanted to go home. She'd had plans that night, but they'd gotten cancelled at the last minute. She was dressed for them, and it seemed silly to get all dressed up and not do anything. She'd talked a few of the crow eaters into a round of pool when they heard the rumble of bikes outside.

The girls perked up and disappeared en masse, like a flock of birds. Olivia sighed and put her cue back on the rack. So much for that.

They filed in and Olivia decided it was time to make herself scarce. She went to get her purse from behind the bar when Chibs rolled up.

"Look at this, lads! We got ourselves a lovely new bartender."

"Sorry, Chibby, I'm on my way out the door. You boys are on your own."

"Ach, darlin', don't be like that! Let's have a wee dram."

"Tempting, you Scottish charmer, but I can't." She grabbed a glass and poured him a shot of Jameson. "On the house, handsome."

She winked, fetched her bag, and headed for the door. The guys greeted her as she went, and she offered everyone a wave and a smile, but she was glad when she finally made it out to the lot.

Except she stopped short, because Juice and Jax were walking straight toward her, and there was no way to avoid them without it being extremely awkward. Especially since Jax had already waved his hand in greeting.

He blew out a whistle as they got closer. "Lookin' good. That usually how you dress for work?"

She rolled her eyes: she had on a short blue dress with a flared skirt, and high pumps. "I had a date tonight, but I got stood up."

"Dressed like that?" he said. "Your date was either blind or stupid."

Olivia couldn't help but smile even though she'd been listening to Jax' schtick nearly their whole lives. "It wasn't her fault. Her job is—" She broke off with a shrug. "Anyway, I was on my way out."

"I'm goin' inside," Juice said to Jax. "You need anything else?"

"Nah, brother. See you in there."

Juice nodded, then glanced at Olivia. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

There was a strained pause. Then Juice said, "Okay. Well. Bye."

Jax squinted after him. "What the fuck?" he said.

Olivia's mouth twisted. "We aren't exactly speaking these days."

"Huh. That got anything to do with Opie beatin' his face in last month?"

"Maybe," she said. "A little. I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay," he said. "Fair enough." He studied her a moment. "You wanna get outta here?"

"I said I was leaving, didn't I?"

He grinned and ducked his head. "I meant with me, Oll. Come on; I feel like I've barely seen you the whole time you've been back."

She thought it over a minute. "Yeah, sure," she said. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

"What, you don't want a lift?"

"In this skirt? No. I think I'll take my car."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I've been stayin' here since Wendy and me—so maybe your place?"

That wasn't what she'd been expecting. She thought he meant a bar or something…but, then, if she were in the mood for a bar she'd turn around and go back in the clubhouse. "Sure," she said. "You know where it is?"

"I'll just follow you," he said.

"Whatever you say, chief." She got in and waited until he got his bike started before she pulled out. It was a short drive, and at one point he pulled up beside her and revved his engine. She gave him the finger and she could hear his laugh even over the rumble of Cougar and Harley.

Once inside, she gestured toward the coatrack near the door. "Kutte, gun, boots," she said. "Please."

He gave her a look, but sat down on the bench to do as she asked.

"I'm going to change," she said, taking off her own shoes to let them dangle from her fingers. "Make yourself at home. There's beer in the fridge."

When she reappeared a few minutes later he was on her couch with a beer in hand and another on the table. She'd taken her makeup off and changed into yoga pants and a tank top with thick socks on her feet, and he grinned at her.

"What, I don't get sexy date night Ollie?"

"Nah," she said and swiped her beer off the table. "You get lounging around the house Ollie."

He took the bottle from her and twisted the cap before he handed it back. She took a long sip and watched him a moment. Then, "Since you and Wendy what?"

"Huh?"

"Back at the garage you said you'd been living in the clubhouse dorms since you and Wendy—? What?"

"Oh." He scowled and danced the bottle cap across his knuckles. "We're gettin' divorced. I'm done with the drugs and the bullshit. Just can't take it anymore."

"I'm sorry, Jax. That sucks."

"It does, I guess—mostly because…" He hauled in a huge sigh. "She's pregnant."

Olivia choked on her beer. "She's _what_?"

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction."

"How far along is she?"

"Like three months, I guess?"

"Wow," Olivia said.

"Uh huh."

There was a pause while Olivia absorbed it. "What's she going to do?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Do about what?"

She waved a hand. "Is she going to keep it?"

"Why wouldn't she keep it? It's my kid."

"Well, yeah, but it's her kid too. And, more importantly at this point, her body."

He snorted and took a pull from his bottle. "If she gave a fuck about her body she wouldn't keep pumpin' it full of drugs. Junkie whore."

"Jackson Teller! That's your wife and the mother of your child you're talking about. And I don't allow that kind of language in my house."

"Jesus, Oll," he said, shaking his head. "You ain't changed a bit."

"In this context I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"So what the fuck's up with you and Juice?" he said, apropos of nothing.

She made a face at him. "Nothing's up. We just—we had kind of a…falling out, I guess, and we both decided it would be easier if we just steered clear. That's all."

"Okay," he said. "So why'd Opie kick his ass?"

"You should probably talk to Ope about that. He doesn't answer to me."

He pointed his bottle at her. "Don't gimme that look. He told me to ask you. Said it wasn't his business to tell me."

"You really want to know?"

"It concerns my club, Ollie; one brother beatin' up another. So yeah. I want to know."

The club. Of course. Naturally it didn't have anything to do with _her_. Finally she sighed. "Fine. Go get us another couple beers."

When he was back and settled again he gestured for her to go ahead. She told him the whole thing, starting with the night seven years ago and ending with their encounter in the bathroom last month. He listened quietly, and when she was done he fell back against the couch and stared at her.

"That's fucked up," he said.

"Yeah, it kinda was."

"Not Juice. You. You fucked him knowing you were goin' home to marry Ben Collins in a couple weeks. Why would you do that?"

She lifted her hands in an exasperated shrug. "I'm human, Jackson. Are you saying if Tara showed up in Charming tomorrow and offered, you wouldn't say yes? Wendy or no Wendy."

"Wendy and me are split up."

"Still. She's pregnant with your kid. It's a complication."

He ducked his head. "It's different," he mumbled.

"Why? How, exactly? You think Juice and I didn't love each other as much as you and Tara? Or is it different because you're a guy?"

"I don't know it's just different," he said. "And, for real, I'm not sure I blame Juice all that much for what he did. I mean, I'm pissed because he did it to _you_, and you're like—whatever—my friend or whatever, but still I'm not sure how wrong he was just in general."

"Wow, Jax, your chivalry shines like a beacon in these dark times," she said.

"I'm just sayin', Oll. You used him. He used you. Seems to me you're even."

She opened her second beer and sipped. "Minor difference: I didn't set out to use him. Yeah, I should've told him about Ben so he went into it with all the facts, but—I never meant for it to go the way it did."

"Oh, so you _accidentally_ used him. That's okay then."

She threw her bottle cap at him. "You're an asshole, Teller." He threw it back and she dodged. "Look, I'm not saying I'm innocent. I know what I did, believe me. But it was a long time ago. And all things considered? He acted like a superior asshole."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess I don't really blame Opie for kickin' his ass."

"I asked him not to, if it makes you feel any better."

"You never want people to get the ass kickin' they deserve."

"Contrary to your belief, violence doesn't solve every problem."

"I don't know," he said. "A knife to the kidney cleared your TJ problem right up."

"Oh my God. Remind me why I invited you over?"

"You missed me. I'm cute as fuck. And I'm charming."

"Well you're certainly not hurting in the self esteem department."

They fell quiet while he seemed to contemplate the print above the fireplace: a ship on storm-tossed seas, but the whole thing sort of blurry and wild, like a kid went off on it with a pack of Crayolas.

"So…" he said, trying to sound casual. "You talk to Tara lately?"

She smothered a grin and drank her beer. "It's been a few days."

"Huh," he said. Then, "How's she doin'?"

"Good, I think." She paused. "At least—" She sighed and he gave her a curious look.

"What?"

"It's probably nothing."

He shifted closer, his brows drawn together and his face tense. "You've got good instincts, Ollie, and nobody knows Tara better than you. What's up?"

She bit her lip a little and let out another breath. "She started seeing this guy a while back. She used to talk about him all the time, how great he was, how considerate, blahblah."

Jax gave an impatient nod.

"Lately, though, it's…I don't know. She hadn't mentioned him in a while, so I asked her about him and she just…she got really weird. Kinda quiet and brisk and then it was all 'I gotta go early day tomorrow' and whatever."

"You think this fucker's hurtin' her?"

"I don't know," Olivia said. "Can you imagine Tara putting up with that? Letting a guy hit her?"

Jax' face told her everything she needed to know about that idea. "You should ask her about it straight out. If she's in some kinda trouble—"

"I shouldn't've said anything," she said.

"Ollie—"

"Jax." She met his eyes and her look was frank. "She wouldn't want you knowing about it. I'll talk to her, but then we'll figure out how to handle it. If anything needs to be handled. It's not really your business."

"Tara's my business," he said, his voice rough.

"No, Jackson. She's really not." She brushed her fingers over the back of the hand that rested on the couch between them. "I'm sorry. I know that sounds harsh, but—"

"No," he said. "Nah, Oll, you're right. She left. Made her choice and got outta town."

"You married someone else. How torn up over her can you be?"

He lifted his brows at her. "_You_ married someone else."

"Ah. Touché." Her chin dropped to her chest as she laughed. "Who would've thought? Four of the six of us already divorced before the age of thirty."

"I think we all just married the wrong people," he said.

"Even Donna and Opie?"

"I don't know, man. That one's tough. I think maybe in another life, you know? Like if Ope weren't all about SAMCRO. Or maybe if he hadn't gone down for those five years. That was just—it was too much too fast. If it'd happened now, maybe, after they'd been married for longer? Then maybe they coulda got through it."

"Kind of a nice idea."

"Which part?" he said.

Her mouth twisted. "Somewhere there's a version of Opie and Donna who are blissfully happy."

"Yeah. A version of Tara and me, too. You and Juice."

"Juice and Tara."

"You and Opie," he said, laughing now.

"_You_ and Opie!"

"You and me," he said with a smirk.

"Mmm," she said. "That _is_ a bizarro world."

"I don't know," he said.

She gave him a look. "What?"

He shrugged. "You're kinda cute, sometimes. And you were my first kiss."

"Be still my heart," she said. "We were twelve, Jax."

"You sayin' you seriously never thought about it?" he said, his tone falling somewhere between offended and amused.

Her nose scrunched. "Not—really. I mean, maybe it _occurred_ to me, but it wasn't anything I ever _pondered_. Why? Did you?"

"Nah. You're a pain in the ass."

"Okay," she said. "That's what I thought."

He set his empty bottle on the table in a line with the other two. "Twelve was a long time ago, though."

"Uh huh," she said, doubtfully.

He looked at her, that coaxing smile curving his mouth so that his dimples came out. "Come on, Oll. My marriage is over. You got stood up, and clearly there ain't nothin' happenin' with Juice."

"Jax—"

"What've we got to lose, really? We both know we aren't interested in anything more than some fun. We should give a shot."

Her mouth fell open. "Give _what_ a shot?"

"Ollie." He scooted next to her and brushed her hair back behind her ear. His voice went low. "You know what I'm talkin' about." He kissed the curve of her ear and she jerked away.

"Whoa there, cowboy. Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Like I said: why not?"

"You're such a romantic, Teller, Jesus."

"You want romance, baby, go make up with Juice."

She glared at him. "Fine," she said. "Fine, we'll give it a try. But I'm not suckin' your dick."

He considered a moment. "Fair enough," he said and pulled her against him.

Her breath caught and her eyes went wide and he grinned just before their lips met. His fingers tangled in her hair and…

Nothing. It felt like kissing…her brother, maybe, without the icky incest taboo, which would at least be _something_. It lasted another several seconds, but it really wasn't anything much more than just…wet. He was a good kisser, technically speaking, but for all his skill it just didn't _do_ anything for her.

He pulled away with a frown. "You could kiss me back, ya know. It'd help."

"I am kissing back!"

He shifted in his seat. "Let's just—let's try it again."

"Okay," she said.

He started to put a hand around her waist, then moved it to her shoulder instead. She adjusted her posture a little and pressed her palm to his chest.

"Um, so—" she said.

"Yeah, so, like—"

He tilted his head and tugged her closer. Their noses bumped and they realigned to try again. He brushed his lips against hers. Again. Then pressed his mouth to her mouth and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" he said, jerking away with an exasperated growl.

"Nothing!" she said. "Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry. I'll be serious. Do it again."

He scowled and threw himself back against the opposite arm of the couch. "Never mind."

She giggled again. "I'm sorry, Jackson. I didn't mean—"

"No," he said and waved a hand. "It was a stupid idea."

She agreed, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than she already had. "Hey, at least now we know, right? One less thing to wonder about."

"Yeah, I guess."

She couldn't stop laughing, and at his glare she gave a helpless shrug. "I think it was better when we were twelve." He just pouted harder. "Aw, come on, what's the matter?" She poked him in the knee. "Why the long face, Jackie boy?"

He glowered. "Never had a girl _laugh_ at me before."

"Oh," she said. Her lips twitched and she bit down to smother the grin that threatened. "That wasn't—I mean, don't take that seriously, Jackson. You know me: a hair giggle trigger."

"Sure," he said. "Look, Oll—don't tell anybody about this, okay?"

"Don't you think you're overreaction a little? It's not like we were naked and you couldn't get it up. We kissed. It sucked." She hitched a shoulder. "Life goes on."

"Olivia," he said with a huff.

"Of course I won't tell anyone. Who would I tell?"

"I don't know," he said, and he wouldn't look at her. "Tara, maybe."

She was definitely telling Tara. She would get a huge kick out of it, and there was no way Olivia was missing out on that.

"Uh," she said. "Sure, Jax. Mum's the word."

"Thanks, Ollie," he said. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," she said. "So since there won't be any sex tonight, how about another beer?"

He snorted. "God you're a pain in the ass. I'm glad I decided not to fuck you."

"_You_ decided? You keep tellin' yourself that, sugar."

"You weren't gonna suck my dick anyway," he said with an unconcerned shrug. "Not sure I missed much."

She rolled her eyes and didn't rise to his bait. Pushed up from the couch and collected their empty bottles. "Try to keep it in your pants while I'm gone, Teller. That lamp over there looks friendly but it's really just a tease."

"Fuck you, Gable."

"Keep dreamin', Jackson."

The sound of his laughter followed her to the kitchen, and she was glad they'd successfully dodged that bullet. She supposed sometimes you really _did_ have to get something out of your system. He wouldn't be coming up with any more bright ideas like that again, and they could go back to giving each other shit like always.

Thank goodness.

* * *

Olivia woke the next morning with a fuzzy head and only vague memories of anything that had happened the night before. She could sort of recall their botched attempt at a kiss, and lots of talking, and at one point she thought maybe Jax had tried to act out a scene from a Kurt Vonnegut novel when she told him she hadn't read it…

After that it all blurred, and she dragged herself to the shower with a groan. She made her sure-fire hangover cure even though the idea of food made her want to vomit, but by the time she was through with the sandwich, orange juice, and Alka-Seltzer, she felt remarkably better.

It was only then she remembered their conversation about Tara. She regretted telling him as much as she had, even as she wished she'd told him more. He was the one person who came close to knowing Tara as well as Olivia did, and she would've liked to use him as a sounding board.

She was worried. Really, actually worried, and the less Tara talked to her the more she worried. They used to talk a couple of times a week, Tara calling when she could get time in her demanding residency program, and Olivia sometimes leaving her long, rambling messages when Tara was working. They'd text in the middle of the night. Wake each other up with phone calls first thing in the morning.

Neither of them kept regular hours, and it showed in their patterns of communication.

But lately, as in the past several weeks—roughly corresponding to Olivia's arrival in Charming—Tara hadn't been returning her messages. No random texts. The only time they talked was when Olivia called her and happened to catch her between rounds or something.

Olivia's behavior had been similar when things started to really go bad with TJ. She hadn't wanted to face her friends knowing she was letting someone treat her the way he did, and she hadn't wanted to face their worried glances or well-meaning questions.

She picked up the phone and dialed Tara's number, and she was so surprised when Tara actually _answered_ that for a second she didn't say anything.

"Ollie?" Tara said again. "You there?"

"Yeah, babe. Sorry. I'm a little hungover, so not all with it."

"Ohh. Hot date last night?"

To anyone else she would've sounded like regular Tara, but Olivia knew her better than that. "Not exactly. Hung out with an old friend and drank too much." She took a deep breath. "Tara, we need to talk."

"Aren't we talking now?" she said, doubtfully.

"I think you know what I mean, love. Please, Tara. Talk to me. What's going on? Why don't you ever call me anymore? Why do you make excuses to get off the phone as fast as possible, and practically flip your shit if I mention Jeff?"

"I don't—"

"Tara. Two words: TJ. Flanary."

There was a long pause, so long Olivia checked to make sure the call was still connected. Then, "Fuck," Tara said on a shaking breath. "I'm pregnant, Ollie," she whispered.

Olivia's initial reaction was happiness, because she knew Tara had always wanted kids—but it was quickly replaced with dread. Tara did not sound like a joyful mommy-to-be. She sounded scared and miserable and _trapped_.

"Tell me," Olivia said. "I'm listening."

Like a dam breaking, Tara spilled the whole tale: seemingly perfect boyfriend, attentive, great job. Gradually his attention had turned obsessive, even violent. The pregnancy. The restraining order that he seemed content to ignore. Tara's fear and dread.

Olivia told her to make an appointment and call her back, and Olivia would be on the next plane to Chicago. Tara had argued at first, but Olivia knew it was just token resistance. She gave in and promised, then she had to go.

Olivia hung up, glad she'd called but furious she hadn't insisted sooner. She scrubbed her face with both hands. Well. It didn't matter now. She just had to do the best she could for Tara going forward, no matter what that meant.

She couldn't tell Jax what was going down, but she would tell Opie. He would keep it to himself, and if shit went south she'd be able to call him without a million explanations or excuses.

It wasn't until she stopped in front of the mirror to do her makeup that she realized she was smiling. Smiling? When her best friend was in crisis? When had that happened?

_Opie_, she thought and smiled again.

Oh. Well. That was to be expected. They spent about ninety percent of their time together laughing about stupid stuff, so of course she'd sort of trained herself to smile when she thought about him.

She shrugged and went back to her mascara. Mystery solved, and no big deal.

* * *

_I didn't want just the stuff with Jax, not just bc it was a little short, but also because it didn't really move anything forward...so hence the much longer chapter, so I could get the Tara stuff in. :)_


	9. Unfolding

Back to regular chapter length, m'loves. :)

Thanks for reading, and for your lovely words.

Oh, also: I know I've never stated this straight out, but it's in the summary so...this is a sequel to the high school AU fic _In the Blood_, and this chapter, especially, talks about events from that one. So if you haven't read it...*shrug* Up to you, homes, but you might be less confused. :D

* * *

**and the heavens were rolling**  
**like a wheel on a track**  
**and our sky was unfolding**  
**and it'll never fold back**  
**sky blue and black**  
Jackson Browne, "Sky Blue and Black"

A week and a half later Olivia was in Chicago. Tara picked her up from the airport and drove back to her apartment, Olivia casting surreptitious glances at her the whole way. She looked pale. Thin and tense and not at all like _Tara_.

Olivia waited until they were inside with the door safely locked behind them (two deadbolts, a chain, and a police bar) and glasses of wine poured before she brought it up.

"So," she said as they settled on the couch. "How's it been?"

Tara swirled the wine around in her glass and glared at it. "The cops don't seem to give a damn about the restraining order."

"He's still coming around all the time?"

"Yep," she said. "The hospital, too. I don't know how he's getting any work done, honestly, because I see him everywhere. Constantly."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"I sure as hell didn't tell him, but…he'll know. He'll see us together somewhere. He might've seen us come in just a minute ago." She paused to take a long sip. "He'll know who you are, and that you're from Charming."

"Is that bad?" Olivia said.

"Could be. He knows…a lot about Charming."

"Mmm." Olivia nibbled a cracker. "Does he know about the pregnancy?"

"God no!" Tara said, wide-eyed. "I mean, I guess he _could_, if he's really been paying attention, but it's not like I've been sleeping with him anyway, so—no. He doesn't."

"That's good," she said with a relieved nod. "We'll go to your appointment tomorrow, and then you'll come home and rest and relax and I'll wait on you hand and foot."

Tara smiled and squeezed Olivia's hand. "That's what I like to hear. How long are you staying?"

"Ahh…" She looked down into her glass. "I bought a one-way ticket."

"You're moving to Chicago?" Tara said, brows raised.

She took a quick breath. "More like I was hoping to drive back. With you. And most of your shit in a moving truck."

Tara ducked her head and made a low noise. There was a quiet moment while Olivia waited, tense and nervous. "The idea had occurred to me," she said at last.

"You said the cops here aren't interested in protecting you. That's bullshit, Tara. You know in Charming the MC—"

"I _don't_ want to get involved with SAMCRO again."

"I know, babe. Trust me I do. But, look. Here you have a stalker ex-boyfriend and a few work colleagues. In Charming you have me. Jax, for all that you guys've been split eleven years. Opie and Juice, too, and all the rest of the guys in the club. We can look out for you."

"Ollie, enough with the full court press. I'd already basically decided to go. I figured you'd bring it up."

A pause. "That was easier than I thought," she said, a little deflated.

Tara grinned, the first genuine smile Olivia had seen since she got to Chicago. "You're kinda predictable. Sometimes."

"Lies. Take it back."

"Sorry," she said with a shrug. "Maybe it's just because I know you so well."

"Hhhmm. Well. I can accept that."

Tara fidgeted. Picked up a cracker. Studied it and set it on the plate again. Finally, "Ollie…thank you. For being here, I mean. For coming all this way."

"You're my best friend, Tara."

"I know, but—"

"_But_ nothing. Who dropped everything and came to Portland to help me move when Ben and I split? Who sat on the phone with me for _four hours_ when I cried my eyeballs out the morning after Ana Ortiz's funeral? Who talked to me almost the whole drive back to Charming to keep me from chickening out and turning around?"

Tara's shoulders moved in a shrug. "You're my best friend," she said.

"Yep. Exactly."

They both set their glasses on the table and fell against each other, arms wrapped around the other tight.

"I love you, Ollie," Tara said.

"I love you too."

"I'm so scared."

"I know." She stroked Tara's hair. "It's gonna be okay. Everything. I promise."

"You really think so?"

"Look at me, Tara. You really think I'm going to let anything happen to you? I stabbed TJ Flanary to protect Juice, and best friend trumps boyfriend every time."

"So you're saying if I asked you'd castrate Jeff with a dull knife and leave him to bleed out?"

Her head tilted. "If that's what you need, babe, I'm on it. Point me toward him."

"You know," Tara said, "I think you really would."

"It's not that I relish the idea of violence, but…yeah. I really would."

* * *

Olivia drove Tara to the clinic the next day and held her hand through the entire thing. After it was over the doctor explained aftercare procedures, and she ended on, "And no penetrative sex for at least two weeks!"

Neither of them bothered to correct the impression she'd apparently formed about their relationship. It didn't matter.

They stopped by the pharmacy on the way back to Tara's apartment, and it was as Olivia was pulling out of the parking lot that she began to think someone was following them. She glanced at Tara; she was groggy and there was a line between her brows, deep and furrowed. Olivia didn't want to bother her, and maybe she was just being paranoid. After a few blocks the big black sedan turned and Olivia let out a quiet sigh of relief. Okay. Way to freak out over nothing.

She got Tara upstairs and was unlocking the door when they heard a noise inside and realized it wasn't locked at all. Both women went tense.

"Call the cops?" Olivia whispered.

Tara shook her head. "Wouldn't do any good. Just get me to bed." She glanced at Olivia and her face was firm even through the haze of medication. "There's a gun in my nightstand drawer, Oll. You know he's carrying, so don't be afraid to draw down on him."

Olivia nodded and pushed the door open.

The man started in surprise—even though he had to've heard the key in the lock—and stared at them. He was tallish, mid thirties, with graying hair. Not bad looking, but knowing what she did made Olivia think he looked sort of rat-like.

"Tara?" he said, ignoring Olivia completely. "Tara, baby, what's wrong? You look sick."

"She has a touch of stomach flu," Olivia said. "You should stay back."

He grimaced and did as she said, but then he followed them into the bedroom. She sat Tara down and tugged her shoes off, then helped her get settled under the covers. Their eyes met, and Tara darted a look to the nightstand. Olivia gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"I'm putting your meds in here, okay? The anti-nausea shit. If you need it that's where it'll be." In truth, of course, it was a antibiotics, but obviously Kohn didn't need to know that.

Olivia could feel him hovering in the doorway. "What do you need, Tara? I'll get you some ginger ale. You don't have any, but your friend here could run to the store. I know you've got some saltine crackers, but maybe something like chicken broth would be better? You need to stay hydrated."

Tara lifted a brow at Olivia, and Olivia's fingers closed over the gun in the drawer. She spun around and pointed it at him, and he stared at it, nonplussed.

"Whoa, what the fuck is this?"

"You need to leave," Tara said, her voice thin and tired, but strong for all that.

"I'm a Federal Agent. You can't threaten me."

"I can do anything I damn well please," Olivia said. "Tara asked you to leave. You should respect that and go."

"Tara! Is this that slut friend of yours from Charming? The one that fucked her ex-boyfriend when she was engaged—to her former teacher? I told you I didn't want you talking to her anymore. God only knows what kind of diseases a whore like her's picked up over the years."

Olivia didn't look over her shoulder, but she could hear Tara's soft laughter. "Yeah. I think she's the one who gave me the flu. What a bitch."

He stared at Tara like she'd lost her mind, and Olivia took a step closer. "You need to go," she said again.

"Put that gun down, honey. We both know you're not going to use it."

"No?" Olivia said, her voice sweet. "You wouldn't be the first person I've killed. First person I've shot, but honestly I think that's a little easier."

"Did you just threaten me? That's a felony!"

"I don't think that was a threat. Tara, did it sound like a threat to you?"

"Nope," she said. "She was just stating a fact. She stabbed her ex-boyfriend in high school. He was a total asshole. Stalked her. Wouldn't _leave_ when she told him to."

"It's sort of a pet peeve of mine," Olivia said.

His eyes darted between the two women, and his expression turned haggard. "I should arrest you, you little bitch," he said to Olivia.

"Do it," she said. "I'll make sure my lawyer brings up the fact that you were here in violation of the restraining order Tara has against you. I bet the FBI just loves shit like that. The Hoover era might be over, but they do expect a certain standard of behavior from their agents, don't they?"

He glowered at her, but she could tell she'd won. "I'm going, Tara. I can't believe you're letting her come between us like this. Does she know how much I love you?"

Tara let out a tired laugh. "Yeah, Jeff. She knows _exactly_ how much you love me."

His glare could've peeled Olivia's skin off her bones, but she didn't drop her sticky-sweet little smile. "Call me if you need me, baby. I'll be here in a minute, okay?"

"Get. The fuck. _Out_," Tara said through clenched teeth.

"You heard her," Olivia said. "I suggest you shut up and do it."

He backed out slowly, his hands raised, and swiped his keys off the table by the door as he went. When it shut behind him Olivia surged forward and did all the locks, including the police bar, and then slid down the door to slump on the floor. She bent her knees and rested her arms on them, the gun dangling from one hand, and her chin fell to her chest.

"Holy shit," she breathed. Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she was sure Tara could hear it in the bedroom. "Holy shit. Jesus Christ holy shit."

She put the gun down, afraid it might go off in her shaking hand, and a few seconds later she heard Tara's voice.

"Ollie? You okay?"

She tried to answer, but only managed a croak. Cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah, babe. I'll be right there, okay? Gonna grab you some water."

She left the gun where she'd set it on the floor (she'd get it later, when she was less likely to accidentally shoot someone), and pushed herself to her feet. The _look_ on his _face_…Olivia shuddered hard enough to make her teeth clack together. In the kitchen she rested her palms against the counter and tried to get her breathing under control.

She had to calm down. He wasn't TJ. He was a crazy lunatic stalker asshole, but he wasn't TJ. This wasn't about Olivia. She had to keep her shit together and help Tara. Pack what she needed and rent a truck and get them the hell out of Dodge, because that guy wasn't fucking around.

Olivia had recognized the look in his eye: it was a certain gleam of obsession and violence that still haunted her dreams a dozen years after they'd put TJ Flanary in the ground. Tara was in trouble, major trouble, and Olivia wasn't sure she could protect her on her own. She was very small, after all, and not at all intimidating unless armed—and he might eventually follow through on his threat to arrest her if she kept pointing a gun at him.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, this is why you told him. For this exact thing."

She grabbed the phone off the wall and dialed. He wouldn't recognize the number, so she hoped to hell he wouldn't let it roll to voicemail. A sigh of relief when he answered.

"Opie?" she said, her voice breaking in the middle of his name. She pressed a hand to her mouth and tried to hold back a sob at the sound of his voice. "Opie, I need you."

* * *

Olivia called him around eleven that morning, and it was going on ten at night when her phone rang. "Are you here?" she said when she answered it.

"Yeah, payin' the cab now. Thought I'd call rather than just knock; didn't wanna scare you guys."

She let out a long breath. "Come on up. We're in four C. Don't ring the bell, though. Tara's sleeping."

She paced a circle around the small living room until the soft knock came. A quick check of the peephole and she opened it and tugged him inside. Did up all the locks behind him, then gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.

He dropped his bag and trailed after her, and the second the door swung shut behind him she threw herself against his chest. He hesitated, but only an instant, before his arms went around her.

"It's okay, Oll," he said. "It's gonna be okay."

"I pulled a gun on him," she whispered. "I threatened to shoot him. He barely batted an eye. It's like—it's like TJ all over again, only worse because this guy is an adult and a Fed and—she's so scared, Opie, and there's nothing I can do to help her."

"Hey." He cupped her face in his hand and raised her chin. "You are helpin' her. Just by bein' here. You're her best friend. That matters."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. "Thank you for coming, Opie. It means a lot."

"Of course I came." He carded his fingers through her hair. "I'm just sorry I'm your second choice."

She jerked back, eyes wide. "What? Opie, that's—"

"Come on, Ollie. I know you'd rather have Juice here. He was there for all the TJ stuff, and I know—I mean, I can imagine—that some of this shit's gotta remind you of TJ, just like you said."

Her brow furrowed as she ducked her head. It had occurred to her, but she'd been trying not to think about it. About Juice. About the days after the attack, once she was out on bail, when she'd visit his hospital room and curl up in his bed next to him. Her head fit so perfectly in that plane where chest turned into shoulder and he'd stroke her hair and read her articles from his game and computer magazines. The naps she took those days were some of the only good sleep she had in the weeks following TJ's murder.

Opie rubbed his thumb across her cheek and she realized she'd been quiet too long.

"It's not that, Ope. Really. It's more I wish…I wish Juice and I were in a place where I could've called him. I wish Juice had been an option. It's not that I would've chosen him over you, I just wish I'd had the choice at all."

He grinned. "That's you: gotta have the option even if you don't use it."

"Well it's not fair! Sticking someone in a box and making them go one way without even giving them a chance!"

"You miss him a lot, don't you?" he said as his face went still.

She looked up to meet his eyes. "I do. But…not quite in the way you mean."

"Huh," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back against the counter. "How, then?"

"Um…" She went to the fridge to and handed him a bottle of water before she grabbed one for herself. "You know how…like, okay, you and Donna, right? You'll always love Donna. She'll always be a part of you, and when things happen, either really good or really bad, there'll always be some twinge inside that misses her. Either you want to share it with her or you want her there to comfort you or whatever, but it's there."

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Okay, I get that."

"It's sort of like that with Juice and me, except add to it a kind of…_wow, I fucked this up so royally and now there might not be any going back, ever_…and you've got how I feel right now."

"You really think, with all your history, you and Juice can't ever get back to bein' friends?"

She took a pull from her bottle as she considered it. "I hope we can. I'd like that. What about Tara and Jax?"

He grunted. "I don't know, man. They'd been in love forever, you know? And then the way she left—it broke him. Almost like Juice after you went off to marry Ben, I guess."

"Mmhhmm," she said. "But they're not Juice and me."

"Nope. They're—" He broke off with a grin. "Maybe even more stubborn. You remember the time she caught him with Asia Martinez?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "God, do I? I thought the roof of the clubhouse was gonna fly off. We were out in the lot, remember? Lookin' at that old Thunderbird."

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "Jesus, if I'd known Jax was in there with Asia—shit, I thought he was never gonna forgive me for letting her go in."

"Please," Olivia said. "How is it when men get caught with their hand in the cookie jar they always blame the person who baked the cookies, the person who left the jar on the counter, and the person who walked in to find them…but never themselves?"

"Who you blamin' for what happened with you and Ortiz?"

"Which time?" she said with a scowl. At his look she flicked her fingers. "The night of his mom's funeral, me. Completely me. I should've told him before anything happened. That day in the bathroom?" She gave a restless shrug, but he forestalled her before she could continue.

"Him, Oll. That was all on him."

She bit her lip and looked away. "I'm not mad at him anymore. Not really."

"Give him some time. That day I kicked his ass he asked if he should apologize to you, and I told him to save it until he really meant it. I think he's comin' around, babe. It'll be soon."

"And then what?" She lifted her hands in a sad shrug. "We hold hands and sing a happy song and everything goes back to good?"

His mouth twitched, and he raised his bottle to try to hide it. "Nah. Nobody'd ever think that'd happen. But maybe you could actually be in the same room together? That'd be nice."

"Yeah," she said. "It kinda would."

He twisted the lid on and off again. "What are you hopin' to happen?"

She studied him a moment, her bright eyes probing the expression he hid behind his beard. "Are you asking if I want us to get back together?"

He hitched a shoulder. "It's an idea."

"No," she said after a long, thoughtful moment. "No, I think that ship has sailed. I've been dating a little, and it's been okay."

"Okay?" He snorted. "Sounds amazing, Oll."

She breathed out a laugh. "I just meant it's been helping. Not just to get my mind off him, but to move past him. I loved him when I was seventeen, Ope. We're adults now. Different people. Relationships have to change accordingly."

He made a low noise that might've been agreement and held his bottle out. She tapped hers against it and they grinned at each other. "To changing relationships," he said.

"Amen, my friend," she said with a laugh. "You gotta grow up some time."

* * *

_Yaaayy, Tara back in Charming! Boooo, crazy stalker ex-boyfriends._


	10. Bittersweet

I kind of thought Olivia might shoot Kohn, too, but I'm glad she didn't. :) I didn't want to depart from canon in that respect.

Thanks for your lovely words, dear readers.

* * *

**i found a photo and you were there**  
**captured in our faces**  
**just before you disappeared**  
**it was nice to know you, if only for a while**  
**to come and go with a sweet hello**  
**and a bittersweet goodbye**  
Better Than Ezra, "Hey Love"

Kohn came around again the next day, but one strong glower from Opie sent him running the other way. He might be obsessed, but he wasn't stupid—and Opie was enormous.

They got Tara's essentials packed and made arrangements for a moving company to get the big stuff. Opie called Donna, and she found Tara a place in Charming she could rent short-term until she found something more permanent. They all knew she wouldn't want to move back into her dad's house.

Meanwhile Tara arranged the transfer between her hospital in Chicago and St. Thomas back in Charming. It would be a little while before she could get her license to practice in California, but at least she would have a job in the meantime.

It was over two thousand miles from Chicago to Charming, but between the three of them they made it manageable. They stopped to spend the night somewhere in Utah, and they got adjoining rooms with the door between them open, Tara and Olivia in one, Opie in the other.

Back in Charming Donna showed up to help get Tara moved in, and Olivia was impressed at how easy she and Opie were around each other. That was what she wanted with Juice: a chance to move on and be friends without all the bullshit and the tension.

Maybe one day.

Olivia got Tara a new phone in Olivia's name and Donna put her name on the rental agreement for the house. Kohn could probably track Tara through the hospital, what with his FBI connections, but they weren't going to make it easy for him.

It had been almost three weeks, and nothing. All quiet from Chicago. Tara was settling into the Charming rhythm again, but as far as any of them knew, Jax hadn't heard that she was back in town. Opie had promised not to tell him, and for Olivia and Donna it didn't even bear mentioning it was so obvious.

When Opie showed up at Olivia's house that day he thought he maybe should've called first—but as the weeks had passed they'd been spending more and more time together, and an unexpected drop in like this one was commonplace. The Cougar was in the driveway, and he could hear noises coming from the backyard workshop, so he headed that way.

"Olivia?" he called.

Nothing. She probably had her headphones in. He pushed open the door and stopped. She'd been busy.

The sculpture was big, nearly filling the open space, and for the moment he couldn't see her. Then he saw the flash of the welding torch behind a curving bubble of glass. When had she started using glass? It was orange and red and yellow, like a flame, with the metal framework surrounding it; sensual curving glass contrasting cold, rigid metal.

"Wow," he said.

She noticed him and flicked the torch off. Shoved the faceplate back and tugged her earbuds out. "Hey, you. Didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, I called but I guess you were busy."

"Mmhhmm," she said.

She stripped off the welding gloves and set everything aside, then ambled over to stand next to him. He mussed her hair and she stuck her tongue out at him. It was damp from the heat, sticking to her temples and neck in curling tendrils, and her face and chest glowed with a fine sheen of sweat. She pulled a bandana from her back pocket and wiped it across her forehead and down the side of her neck. He swallowed and looked away.

"This's new," he said with a nod toward the unfinished sculpture.

"Yeah! You like it?"

"It's pretty incredible. You ever used glass before?"

"No, and it's insane. I can't do it here; the building's not up to code for an oven that hot; but I've been headin' out to this hippie commune place where they have all these artists? It's called Red Sands, even though there's not really any sand and it's not really red."

His mouth twisted. "Yeah, I've heard of it."

"It's, like I said, pretty fuckin' hippie dippy, but they've got great workspace, and tons of glass blowers and shit. I learned some stuff and I've been working on it." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Whatcha think?"

He glanced down at her, then back at the sculpture with a thoughtful frown. "I like how—like the glass is really sort of…almost alive? But the metal is…cold. Hard, like."

"Yes!" Her face lit up and her bright eyes danced with glee. "That's exactly it!" she said, bouncing on her toes as she circled it. "It's the juxtaposition between the organic and the inorganic. It's like—the glass is fire and life and _sex_ and passion, and the metal is logic and structure and taxes."

"Taxes?"

She waved a hand. "Rigid shit. _Rules_. Like the glass is the id, the metal is the superego, and the space around it is the ego."

He snorted out a laugh. "The glass is Kirk and the metal is Spock."

"Exactly!" she said, pointing at him. "This is the biggest one I've done, but I've got a bunch of smaller ones over there." She waved to several sheet-shrouded forms. "It's not all fire. A couple of them the glass is more like water, or even, like…trees and grass and…growing things."

"Can I see?"

She bit her lip and tilted her head back and forth as she thought it over.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll wait until it's all ready."

"Are you sure? I don't mind—"

"Nah. It's cool. I wanna see 'em all together, you know? The whole shebang."

She grinned at him, the dimple in her chin flashing, and he couldn't help but grin back. "I'm hoping it'll be a really big shebang. My agent's coming down in a few weeks to take a look, then she'll start hittin' up some galleries."

She chewed her lip again, her eyes trained on the sculpture. "This might be it. I have a feeling, you know? Like—" She poked herself in the belly before she reached over and poked him in the same spot.

"Hey!"

"In my gut. This could be New York. A big gallery in San Francisco. LA."

"That'd be awesome, Oll." He paused. "And, you know, I think you could be right."

"You do?" she said.

"Yup. I've got a feeling in my gut, too. I don't know much about art, but this?" He shook his head. "It's crazy good. Even I know that."

Her smile ratcheted up a few watts, which he hadn't even thought possible, and before he could get his breath back (he wasn't sure when he'd lost it) she launched herself at him.

"Whoa," he said, stumbling a little from the surprise. "_I'm_ not in charge of any galleries."

Her cheek rested against his sternum, right over the reaper he had tattooed there, and she stood for a moment just listening to the steady drum of his heart. Finally, "You're a good friend, Ope."

"Ha," he said. He patted her back. "Just tellin' the truth, Ollie. You know me."

"I do." She took a step back and threw her arms out wide. "I haven't been this excited about a project in years. I guess coming to Charming was the right move after all."

"I guess it was," he said.

She pressed a hand to her tummy and rubbed. "You hungry?"

"That's why I came over. Tara said you'd been workin' a lot, and I was afraid you were forgettin' to eat again."

Her nose scrunched. "Yeah. Maybe a little. You guys talked about me behind my back?"

He sighed. "Nothin' bad, Oll. Just neither of us had seen you much, so I thought I'd ask her about it."

"Oh," she said. She looked up at him with a teasing grin. "You asked about me?"

"Ollie, come on."

"I'm messin' with you." Her mouth moved in a pensive frown. "I can't remember the last time I went to the store. But! It's three dollars off a large at Positano's tonight."

"You can keep track of what day is cheap pizza night, but not the last time you were to the store?"

She hitched a shoulder and brushed by him on her way toward the house. "Priorities, my friend."

He followed her, ducking his head to hide a smile, and flicked the lights off as he went past. She shut the door and set the padlock, giving it two hard tugs to make sure it was tight. He tossed an arm around her and they crossed the yard in companionable silence.

"I think I need a shower," she said in the kitchen.

"I wasn't gonna say anything—"

"Order for us? You know what I like."

"I'm not gettin' spinach."

"Broccoli?"

"Olivia."

"Fine!" she said. "Pineapple at least?"

"Pineapple," he said with a brief nod. "And olives on the other one."

"Pineapple and prosciutto on one, olives and pepperoni on the other?"

"Olives, pepperoni, and onions."

"Opie!"

He held up a hand. "Kidding, kidding. Olives, pepperoni, and…" A long-suffering sigh. "Broccoli."

"Thank you, Harry. You're very generous."

He snorted. "Go get in the shower, Gable. You stink."

"Lovely. Don't forget the cheesy bread."

"You insult me."

"God," she said with a scowl. "I guess I'll have to go to the actual gym tomorrow."

"You don't sweat it off in your workshop?"

"I wish. No, I've got do it anyway for—" She patted her hip, the one she'd broken in the car accident when she was thirteen. "Gotta keep the muscles strong to support the weak-ass bones."

"That's you: Brittle Betty."

"Uh huh. I don't mind yoga that much, honestly. Hurts a lot less than, say, the stupid StairMaster. Swimming's good, too." She made a face. "If only I could find someone interested in rigorous, athletic sex it would save me the trip."

"Uh…" He cleared his throat and tried to focus. "You seriously can't find anybody to fuck you? With that ass?"

"Aw, Ope, I didn't know you'd noticed!" She shrugged and her joking tone turned serious. "There are plenty of people, I'm sure—at least five of them just in the SAMCRO clubhouse—but I don't know. I guess the problem's more me."

He grabbed a beer from her fridge and propped against the counter. "You've never had a problem with casual hook-ups before." He paused. "Wait, maybe that came out wrong."

"No." She flicked her fingers. Took his beer and sipped from it before she handed it back. "No, you're right. And I've had—well, just one, I guess—since the thing with Juice. And, honestly, it's not the thing with Juice that's holding me back."

Opie wasn't one hundred percent sure this was a conversation he wanted to have with her. Obviously he knew Olivia had sex, in the abstract sense, but it had been difficult enough learning about the "quick and dirty fuck" (as she'd put it) with Juice in the bathroom. Overall he tried to avoid thinking about her in that context.

But he knew she couldn't talk about relationship type stuff with Tara these days, and there wasn't really anyone else. So he took a long pull of beer and managed a smile. "What's the problem then?"

"I don't know," she said. She peered up at him, a line between her brows. "What's the problem with you?"

That took him aback. "Huh?" he said.

Her mouth quirked. "How many people have you been with since you and Donna split? How many dates have you been on?"

He made a face at her. "How many _you_ been with since you and Ben split? You two've been broken up about as long as Donna and me."

"Hhhmm." He'd meant it rhetorically, but she thought it over anyway. "Dates, I'm not sure. Sexual partners? Counting Juice, three."

"Three? Three in almost two years?"

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. I just—I woulda guessed higher."

"You?" she said, and for a split second he misunderstood her and almost choked. Then he clued in.

"Oh. Um. I guess, uh…four?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Then don't give me shit about my three. You have a goddamn harem at your disposal and it's four. I have to find mine the old fashioned way."

"You're such a goddamn romantic, Gable."

It was almost exactly what she'd said to Jax that night they'd tried to kiss, and it gave her pause. "I think that's the problem," she said, quietly.

He studied her, the tightness around her eyes and the tense set to her shoulders. "What?" he said.

"I'm tired of it. Hook ups. Or, not even that…" She trailed off and her eyes flicked away. Back. "The only person I've ever loved is the boy I dated in high school. I was married five years and never really loved my husband. Not—not like that. I _cared_ about him, and I enjoyed his company, but that like…dizzying, romantic _rush_? No."

He shifted his weight and frowned into his beer. "What you're describing…It's not all that common, Olivia."

"It isn't? You're saying Donna's the only person you ever loved?"

Their eyes met across the small kitchen, and his look was so intense she couldn't hold it.

"No," he finally said. "But you know that."

"Opie—"

"Hey, it's okay. You don't gotta say nothin'. I know you never felt that way about me."

"I wish I could have."

He gave a rueful shrug. "It's like I told you that time: you and Juice were real good together back then, and so were me and Donna. It worked out the way it was supposed to."

"Hhmm. Even though you and Donna are divorced and Juice and I are barely speaking?"

"Yep. Even though. Because, look, we're—you know we're—real good now. You and me, I mean. Hangin' out and stuff. It's easy."

"Right," she said. "If we'd tried to stay together back then, it would've been a mess."

"A huge fuckin' mess. And, yeah, Donna and me split, but I loved her. We had real good times. I wouldn't trade that." He frowned down at his boots. "I just wish I hadn't gone down for those five years. We maybe coulda made it work if it weren't for that."

Olivia hesitated, but then took a deep breath and forged ahead. "I don't blame her for leaving. I don't know if I could've handled that, either. But…I get the impression that was more a last straw sort of deal, rather than the sole reason. Not that she didn't love you—I know she did, and she still does—just that there was a lot going on. All of that _plus_ five years without her husband while he served time for his MC…well."

"Nah," he said. "I think you're right." His brow creased. "Not sure if that makes it easier or harder."

"I don't either, love."

"Shit," he said after a quiet moment. "This got heavy."

"A little," she said.

"Go take your shower. I'll order the food."

"Cannoli?" she said, hopefully.

"Cheesecake."

She pondered for a moment. "Cheesecake. With cherries on top."

"Like I'd forget the cherries. Who you think you're talkin' to?"

"My bad," she said with a grin. "You always know what I like, Winston."

"Uh huh," he said. "Don't forget it, Gable."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and he tried to ignore the look she was giving him. "Don't worry," she said. "I won't."

"Go take your stupid shower and leave me alone," he said.

For a split second she had the wild notion to ask him to join her…but then she remembered her own words from just a few minutes ago. No more casual hook ups.

Besides, with their height difference shower sex would be anywhere from seriously ill-advised to outright impossible. Standing sex in general, though she had a feeling Opie would be strong enough to hold her up if—

Why the fuck was she thinking about Opie Winston and sexual positions in the same sentence?

"You okay?" he said as color flooded her cheeks.

"Yep. Just, um. Goin' to get in the shower. See you in a few."

"Sure, Oll," he said. "Weirdo."

"Loser."

"Thumbelina."

"Sasquatch!" she called from the hall and enjoyed his laugh all the way to the bathroom.

* * *

Over two months had gone by since their encounter in the bathroom, and Juice had decided it was past time to apologize. He'd taken Opie's words to heart, because he knew if he tried before he meant it, or while he was still angry and bitter, it would all blow up in his face and he might lose her forever.

He'd spent a long time angry. A long time hurting. But he'd never once, in all that time, _hated_ her, and he didn't want to start now. He'd never wanted her out of his life, and the last couple of months having her so close but so impossibly far away had been awful.

It might be easier—at least a tiny bit easier—if it weren't all his fault. He'd done the wrong thing. Treated her like shit, in a way he always swore he'd never treat a woman, much less _Olivia_. His Olivia. His girl.

Except, of course, she wasn't his girl anymore, and after the bathroom stunt she'd probably never be his girl again.

At least they could be friends. They could try. It wasn't everything he wanted but it was better than nothing, and nothing was…the worst, frankly. _Nothing_ was making him miserable.

To that end he found himself hunting her down at TM. Their shifts were wildly different (by design), and the club kept him busy when he wasn't working at the garage, but this was important. He dragged his laptop to the office and camped out there, and Gemma kept tossing him looks over her glasses.

He ignored her—not an easy feat—and pretended to be absorbed in his work. Finally he heard the Cougar, and when he shut the computer's lid and jumped up Gemma gave a knowing snort.

"What?" he said.

"Nothin', baby. Just be careful."

"It's not like that, Gem. I just gotta clear the air. It's been shitty way too long."

The office door opened and Olivia peeked in. "Oh," she said—her standard greeting for him, it seemed. "I didn't know—I'll come back."

"No, sweetheart, come in," Gemma said. "I was just clearin' out, and I think he's got a few things to say to you."

Olivia's stomach did a nervous little flip, but she stepped inside anyway.

"I'll be at the clubhouse," Gemma said. "Don't trash the place."

They both watched her go, and when the door shut behind her Olivia turned toward Juice with a wary expression. He had his hands shoved in the pockets on his kutte and she couldn't read his face.

"What's up?" she said, trying to sound easy.

He had no idea where to start. It was all so _much_, and he felt so gross and awful about the whole thing…

"I owe you an apology, Olivia."

She made a soft, noncommittal noise and just watched him.

"That day in the bathroom—I was wrong. I shouldn't've treated you like that. I was pissed, but you didn't deserve…" He ducked his head. "I'm just sayin' it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Sorry for the sex, or sorry for the circumstances around it?"

That surprised him into look at her. He snorted out a brief laugh. "The circumstances. The sex itself was…uh, I mean…I'm not sorry we had sex. It was…great…sex…I'm just sorry I was such an asshole about it."

"You were an asshole," he said, quietly. "I had no idea you could _be_ such an asshole."

He scuffed his boot against the floor. "Yeah. Me neither, I guess."

"You hurt me a lot, Juice. I know—I know I hurt you too, and I'm sorry. I never should've said that about getting it out of my system, or even about goodbye sex. I just didn't know what else—I was engaged. I should have told you."

"Wouldn't've mattered," he said with a shrug.

"What do you mean?" she said.

He gave a frustrated huff. "You make me nuts, Liv. You gotta know that. When I saw you at the funeral it was like—I don't know. I don't got words for it. You coulda told me about Ben and I still woulda wanted you just as much. I still woulda asked you to kiss me just like I did."

"Juice—"

"I'm not sayin'…hell, I don't know what I'm sayin'. If I'd known I still would've done exactly what I did, just with different…expectations, I guess. I wouldn't've expected anything else. Just that night."

"So it really would've been goodbye sex," she said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"That might've saved us a lot of heartache."

He stared at her. "Is that what you had, Liv? Heartache?"

"You mean after?" She lifted her hands in an _are you kidding me?_ gesture. "Of course I did. That night was—I don't know. I don't really have words, either. It was intense. Wild. And scary as hell."

He took a step closer and his voice dropped. "It was scary for me, too. I wanted you so damn bad, Olivia, but I knew you had a life in Portland. I didn't suspect about the fiancé, but I knew it was your home. I went into it knowing it might be a goodbye, and then when you told me the next day I flipped my shit. I didn't wanna hear it. I didn't want you to tell me exactly what I'd been thinkin'."

"Oh, Juicy," she said. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fend off tears, and when she opened them again they were bright and sad. "We're so stupid. Both of us. If we'd just talked to each other—"

"It'd been four years, Liv. And neither of us are real good at talking anyway."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "I am too. I wish I could just go back…" He grinned. "I'd still fuck you on the sink, but I'd do it all differently."

She poked his arm. "Who says I'd let you fuck me on the sink in this time-travel scenario?"

"You would," he said. "You totally would."

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I guess I would."

He bit his lip and eyed her. "Can I hug you? Would that be okay?"

"Yeah, Ortiz. Just don't get handsy."

He reached for her, and she stepped into him. His arms went around her, one hand tangled in her hair and the other pressed against her back. He took a deep breath, savoring her clean, familiar scent, and kissed the top of her head. "I think we're gonna be okay, Liv."

"Me too," she said, sniffling a little.

Her fingers were curled in his kutte and she rested her forehead in the same spot she always had, the curve between chest and shoulder. It was so familiar it made her ache, but in a nostalgic sort of way. Bittersweet and sepia-tinted, like an old photo worn around the edges.

How long they stood like that neither of them could've said, and they didn't notice the activity that carried on outside their little bubble.

Chibs caught sight of them through the garage door and grinned. His invoices could wait, and he wandered off to find something else to do.

Opie headed toward the office from across the lot, and when the sun's glare cleared he could see them, Juice's face buried in her hair and hers pressed into his chest, and he stopped short with a breathless grunt, like a hard hit to the gut.

Well. Apparently Juice had finally gotten around to apologizing. And to great success, it seemed. He veered toward the clubhouse. It was early, but a drink sounded really good right now.

* * *

_Don't be a fuckboy, Opie. Nobody likes a fuckboy._


	11. I Believe

Thank you so much for all your words, dear readers!

A brief reassurance, given at the beginning to assuage any fears that may develop over the course of this chapter: I ended _In the Blood_ so sadly partially to contrast with the happy ending of this one. Every single character (except Tara's asshole FBI ex) will get a happy ending. I promise. Yeah, there'll be some heartache and drama along the way, but I mean. What would be the point otherwise? :) Don't worry: your fav, no matter who your fav might be, will walk outta here smiling and whistling a happy tune.

* * *

**i'm not a monster i believe**  
**like a liar would believe**  
**helps me navigate the wooden smiles, the raging sea**  
**all my heroes pull their heads**  
**like a fighter would I guess**  
**no one really ever likes getting older**  
Matt Nathanson, "Angel"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Olivia snapped.

Opie slammed the wrench down on the workbench. "Nothin'. No problems here."

"Really? Because you've been acting like you're on the verge of a temper tantrum all day. I thought you were gonna make Sack cry."

He snorted. "If the prospect can't do the fuckin' job he needs to move the fuck on. Ain't got time for crybabies around here."

"Hhmm," she said, lifting a brow. "I guess that memo missed _you_."

"Why you up my ass, Ollie? I'm just doin' my job."

"Whatever, Ope," she said. "Finish up so we can get out of here. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah I bet," he muttered under his breath.

Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"Nothin'," he said again, this time with a shrug. He shut the drawer on his tool chest and locked it. "Just—was kinda surprised to see you and Juice so cozy this mornin'."

"Cozy? What—?" The hug. He was acting like a little shit because he'd seen Juice hug her? "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You fuck him in the office, or you decide to let him actually take you home this time? That why you're so eager to get outta here?"

She flinched like he'd hit her, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh my God," she said. She spun away and stomped toward the office and Opie let his chin drop to his chest.

Jesus. What the fuck was his problem? He chased after her, but she slammed the door in his face. He sighed. Yeah, he probably deserved that.

He opened it slowly to find her shoving her shit in her bag. Her back was to him, but he could tell by the tension in her shoulders she was pissed as hell.

"Oll, Christ, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that."

She jerked around and he winced at the sight of her tears. "You can't do this, too. Not you! I could _barely_ handle it from Juice, but at least he pulled that _take a number_ shit when we were kids, so I know how he can lash out when he's pissed. But you? I can't, Opie. Don't do this to me."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I was out of line, and I swear I didn't mean it. I don't even know—fuck, Ollie, you know I'd never—"

"I _thought_ you wouldn't! But then you—" She threw an arm out, an emphatic gesture toward the garage. "I never thought I'd hear that from you. Of all people, Opie!"

She was crying harder now, almost like he'd seen her in the bathroom that day, and Opie felt about two inches tall.

"It was just a hug," she said through her tears. "He apologized and we talked it out a little and he asked if he could hug me. I said yes and it was _just a hug_. That's it! No kissing, no touching, no _fucking_! I told you I don't want that with him anymore and I meant it!"

"I know," he said. He lifted his hands and took a step toward her, keeping his movements slow and his voice low and soothing. "I know, Ollie. I fucked up. I don't even know why I said it. I didn't mean it, I swear. And, look, even if you did decide to pick up with Ortiz again, it's none of my business. It's your life."

"Except it _is_ your business. I would never—I wouldn't just _do_ that. Not without—I mean—I'd talk to you first. Before I decided something so—because you're—and we're…"

He blinked at her. "We're what, Oll?" he said when she trailed off.

Her eyes were huge, her face red and blotchy. She sniffled and he handed her the box of tissues so she could wipe her nose.

"We're friends, Ope," she finally said, her voice thick. "Right?"

He cleared his throat and felt some of the tension drain away. "Yeah. Of course we are. Pals."

"Yeah," she said. "Buddies."

"Compadres?"

Her mouth quirked. "Amigos."

He sighed and brushed one last tear off her cheek. "I'm a fuck up, Olivia. I saw you two, and it just—I don't know. It looked real…intimate, I guess."

"Hhmm. I'm not sure Juice and I can hug without it being intimate. But _intimate_ doesn't always mean _sexual_."

He huffed. "I know it."

"So why'd you flip out? Or why didn't you just ask me about it?"

"I don't know," he mumbled as he ducked his head. "Figured it was none of my business, I guess."

She tugged his beard until he looked at her. "It is your business, you idiot. We're a team these days, aren't we?"

"I thought so," he said.

"Nothing's changed, Ope. Jax is off with his head up his ass and, yeah, Juice and I made up, but not in a relationship-y way. You and Donna are split and Tara's slowly putting herself back together and that leaves…us. You and me."

"The leftovers," he said with a smile.

"Yep. Day-old pizza and cold mashed potatoes."

"I like day-old pizza."

"Good," she said. "Because I'm the pizza and you're the mashed potatoes."

"Please," he said, scowling. "I'm clearly the pizza."

"All right, sugar." She patted his cheek. "Whatever you say."

"Don't humor me, Gable. I've got legit reasons why I'm the pizza."

She couldn't suppress a grin. "You know, before you pitched your little fit I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over and watch a movie. I rented the first three _Scream_ flicks—"

"You hate scary movies."

"And I need a movie-watching buddy. Because I hate scary movies."

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and his smile was wry. "Sure, Oll. I can protect you from a knife-wielding maniac in a ghost mask."

"Thank you," she said. She lifted up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. "You're a true prince when you aren't acting like an asshole."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, completely ignoring the way her breasts brushed his arm and how good she smelled even after a full day at the garage. "Listen, I'll finish up here. Go on if you want."

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave you."

"Nah, I'll be fine. Consider it part of my apology. The groveling stage."

She grinned. "In that case. Want me to pick up Chinese on my way?"

"Maybe Greek?"

"Dolmades. Yes, good. See you in…thirty?"

"An hour. I'm gonna hit the shower." He thought for a moment. "Maybe I should pick up the food, so it won't be cold. Your usual?"

"Sounds good." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door before he could change his mind. "Ride safe," she said over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Oll," he said. "Thanks."

He slid his hands in his pockets and watched until she got in the car. He was lucky. Real fuckin' lucky. He'd made her cry and she'd forgiven him for it. Just like that. He drew in a long breath and let out it slow.

Greek food and movie night. She'd been back almost four months now and they'd done this a hundred times. Like she'd said, nothing had changed. They were buddies, plain and simple, and it was how they both liked it.

So why did he feel like _everything_ had changed, and all at once? Like _he'd_ changed it with his reaction to her hugging Juice? It didn't matter. He'd flipped out like a dipshit, but she'd forgiven him and now they'd move on.

He just had to keep his head on straight and everything would be fine.

* * *

There were other garages in Charming. Tara didn't have to go to TM. She didn't have to go to a garage at all: between Opie and Olivia she was sure they could fix any problems the Cutlass might be having…but she'd put it off long enough. Jax was going to find out she was back eventually, and she thought it would be better to just get it over with.

She hadn't told Olivia she was coming, and really it had been sort of a rash decision. She let out a long breath and turned the car off before she climbed out. Chibs was heading toward her, and when he recognized her he stopped and did a double take.

"Well, well," he said. "Do my eyes deceive me or is it the long lost Dr. Knowles?"

"The one and only," she said. "It's good to see you, Chibby."

"Aye, darlin', you too. Seems doctorin' suits you. You're lookin' well."

She smiled and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. "Thanks," she said. "Hey, so, is Ollie around?"

"Aye," he said, "but so is—"

"Tara?"

They both froze at the familiar voice, and Tara pivoted his way slowly. Jax stood a few feet away, his face as stunned as if she'd been dead and come back to life.

"Jax," she said.

"What're you doin' here?" he said, rougher even than usual.

"Ah…" She cut a look at Chibs.

"Seems I was in the middle of somethin'," he said. "I'll leave you two to it." And off he went.

She slid her hands in her pockets and tried to smile. "I'm, um…back. In Charming."

"To live?" he said. He couldn't process what she was saying. "I thought you were in Chicago."

She started to reply, but he held up a hand. "Not here." He jerked his head toward the clubhouse and set off that way, and Tara didn't have much choice but to fall in step behind him. He led her through the bar and into the office, and as the door shut behind them he gestured for her to continue.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I was," she said. "But my dad died, and someone needs to take care of all his shit…and St. Thomas made me a great offer, so…" She trailed off with a shrug.

"I don't understand," he said. "You were gone. You _left_. You said you weren't ever comin' back."

Her mouth quirked. "Pretty sure Ollie said the same thing."

"She didn't _leave_, Tara. Her dad took her away. There's a difference."

"So are you mad at me for going, or for coming back?"

"I just wanna know what the fuck you're doin' here. That's it."

She could tell he was dodging the question, but she could play along. "I'm here about the Cutlass. The clutch is sticking, and I thought—"

"Ollie can't look at a clutch for you?" At her look he snorted. "You aren't gonna try to tell me she doesn't know you're back, are you?"

"No," she said. She took a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought it would be better if you heard it from me, Jax."

The muscles in his jaw danced and his mouth was tight. "So you thought you'd just show up here, middle of the day, like you never fuckin' left?"

"That wasn't—"

"Ollie tell you I got married?"

Tara let out a short breath. "Yep. She also told me you guys split up."

"You here to help me pick up the pieces?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Jackson. I'm here about my car, and because I figured after everything I owed it to you to at least let you know I was back in town. I didn't want you hearing through the rumor mill."

"Very considerate," he said, and she flinched at the acid in his tone.

She had no idea how long they would've stood there arguing, because just then there was a knock at the door. Jax didn't drop her gaze as he huffed out a breath.

"What?" he said.

The door opened and Opie poked his head in. When he saw Tara his brows lifted, but otherwise he didn't react. "Tara," he said.

"Opie."

Jax turned on him with a scowl. "You know about this?"

He pushed the door wider and gave a laconic shrug. "Ollie mighta said."

"Right. You and Ollie bein' such good buddies these days."

Opie and Tara shared a brief glance. "You been kinda busy," he said. "Donna said Tara wanted to be the one to tell you she was back."

"Donna?" Jax said. "Donna knew, too? Did the whole fucking _town_ know before me?"

"No, Jax," Tara said. "That's part of why I'm _here_."

"Jesus." He dragged a hand down his face. "I ain't got time to deal with this right now."

"You don't have to _deal with_ anything. We live in the same town again. Big fucking deal. I'll find another mechanic if it's that stressful for you to see my car in your lot."

"He's not sayin' that, Tara," Opie said.

Jax glowered. "We got that thing with the Mayans," he said to Opie. "Clay and Tig already left."

"Yep," Opie said. "That's why I came to get you."

He yanked his gloves from his back pocket and tugged them on. "Get your clutch fixed," he said to Tara. "Don't want it gettin' any worse." He stomped away, brushing past Opie with a grumbled curse, and Opie cast her an apologetic glance.

"He'll calm down," he said. "It was just a shock."

"Mmhhmm," she said, doubtfully.

"Ollie's over at the garage. Gemma ain't here, so you dodged that bullet."

"Opie!" Jax called from the hallway.

"Go on," Tara said. "I'll be fine."

He grimaced and gestured for her to follow him. "C'mon. I'll walk you out."

She fell in step beside him, and he automatically shortened his strides to make up for their height difference. Jax waited in the bar, his brow furrowed and his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. When he saw them he spun on his heel and headed outside. She and Opie followed him, and as Opie took off toward their bikes he cast Tara a brief wave.

Tara watched them rumble from the lot with a little frown between her brows. Well. She hadn't thought it would be easy. She sighed and turned toward the garage, and the gleam of sunlight off coppery hair caught her eye.

"Hey!" Olivia said as she trotted her way. "Chibs told me you were here."

"Are you busy? You didn't have to stop for me."

"Nah," she said. "It's lunchtime. You hungry?"

"I could eat, I guess."

"Good. I'll give you half my sandwich."

"So," Olivia said once they were settled at the picnic table, "how'd _that_ go?"

Tara frowned and stole a chip. "About as well as you'd expect. He was fuckin' _thrilled_."

Olivia sighed. "Honestly I think he'll be happy once he has a chance to think about it. It was probably just a shock."

"Hhmm. Yeah, that's what Opie said."

"Okay, then. Surely we aren't _both_ wrong. Him, yeah. But me?"

Tara grinned. "So modest, Olivia Jameson."

"Modesty is overrated, Tara Grace. I believe you're the one who taught me that."

"Sounds like me."

They ate for a few minutes in silence until finally Tara said, "How've things been with you and Juice since the big apology?"

"Oh." Olivia hitched a shoulder. "Better. I mean, we still don't talk much—I think it's a little too…I don't know. Raw? But at least it's not a hostile silence. And Gem doesn't have to bend over backwards to keep us apart on the schedule."

"That's good," Tara said. She eyed her a moment. "I know you've been walking on eggshells around me since I got back, because of the whole thing with Jeff. But it's okay. You can come talk to me about whatever. I'm your best friend, remember?"

Olivia gave a slow nod, maybe of relief. "I've been talking about it some with Opie, but he's a boy, and it's just—"

"Not the same thing," they said in unison.

"I know," Tara continued with a smile. "That's why I'm sayin' it. In case you think I'm too delicate to hear about your relationship problems."

"It's not that."

Tara nudged her with a shoulder. "I know it's not." She paused to pick at her sandwich. Then, "It was pretty incredible the way Opie showed up in Chicago like that. I mean, he just dropped everything and flew up _that day_."

"Well yeah," Olivia said. "He knew you needed help, and—"

"Me?" Tara said, pointedly. "Or you?"

Olivia's brows drew together. "What's that mean?"

"Nothing," Tara said. "Just, look: Opie and I talk every once in a while, like maybe once every six months or so. We exchange Christmas and birthday cards, though he usually forgets mine. I haven't actually since him in person since a few months after high school graduation."

"Uh huh," Olivia said. She fiddled with the pull tab on her Diet Coke can. "Your point?"

Tara poked her. "That's not the person you fly halfway across the country for. Not at the last minute, anyway. Not at a second's notice when you've got a job and an MC and an ex-wife you're still really into."

Olivia was perched on the table with her feet on the bench, and Tara sat on the bench next to her. Now Olivia straightened from her slumped position and set the can down. "We're friends, Tara. That's the sort of thing a guy like Opie does for his friends. It's rare, yeah, but…he's sort of a rare person." Her voice softened, and a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You know that."

"Huh," Tara said.

"What? What's that look?"

"No look," Tara said. "Just—yeah, you're right. Opie is that kinda guy."

"Lass!" Chibs' voice floated to them from across the lot, and he hurried their way like his ass was on fire. "Ollie girl, can you cover for me? Just got a call from the boys. Some trouble with the Mayans."

She lifted a brow. "Everything okay?" she said.

He hesitated. "Aye, I s'pose, but—" He frowned at Tara. "You wouldn't, ah…you wouldn't be available to help me patch someone up, would ye?"

Tara and Olivia shared an alarmed look. "Someone's hurt?" Olivia said.

Chibs wagged his hand back and forth. "Not bad, but my medical skills are somewhat lacking. A real doc would be a big help."

Another glance passed between the two women. Olivia shrugged. Tara lifted her brows. Olivia's head tilted. Finally Tara gave a long sigh. "Yeah," she said. "I'll need to get a few things from the hospital. Where can I meet you?"

"We'll bring him back here," he said after a moment's consideration. To Olivia he said, "Finish up with that brake job and then shut the garage for the day. We don't want customers comin' in when we've got brothers bleedin'."

"Sure, okay," she said. "Wait!" she called after him as he took off again.

He turned back with a questioning frown.

"Who was it?" Tara said.

"Ah…Opie, I b'lieve. But nothin' serious."

"Opie," Olivia said, too quiet for him to hear—but it didn't matter, because he was gone anyway.

Tara blinked at her in alarm. She'd gone pale beneath her freckles, and she seemed sort of stunned. "Ollie?"

"Hum?" She shook her head once, quick. "Right. What?"

"Maybe give me a ride to the hospital? With the Cutlass's clutch acting so weird—I'd hate for something to happen between here and there."

"Chibs said—"

"I know. But I think the brake job can wait. Lock up and meet me at the Cougar." Tara didn't want to leave Olivia here virtually alone, and she knew Olivia needed something to occupy her mind. Brakes weren't going to cut it.

"Olivia," Tara said when she still didn't move.

"Yes!" she said, blinking hard. "Good, yeah, just gimme a sec. Throw this stuff away?"

"Sure," Tara said, gathering their trash. "See you in a minute."

Olivia shoved off the table and hurried toward the garage, and Tara watched her go with a frown. She had no clue. Literally none. Tara wondered how deep her feelings went, and if Opie knew. Or Juice.

She blew out a long breath. This could get extremely complicated, and Olivia hated complications. It would bear watching, and if needs be Tara would knock some sense into her. Or both of them. Or all three.

Whoever might need sense-knocking, Tara Knowles was there for it.

* * *

_Happy ending. I promise._

_Not that the ending is coming up any time soon; there's a lot more otw. :)_


	12. What You Fear

You guys are so adorable and I love you all. *squishes your faces*

* * *

**little pictures in my head, turnin' inside-out again **  
**cuz fuckin' up takes practice  
i feel i'm well rehearsed **  
**because the past is a bully and the future's even worse **  
**tell me what you fear cuz i can feel it like a curse**  
Goo Goo Dolls, "Only One"

The guys were already there by the time Tara and Olivia got back to TM. Jax let Tara in and then barred Olivia's way, telling her in no uncertain terms to _go home_. Tara took one look at her face and reached around Jax to grab her hand.

"Sorry," she said. "She's my assistant."

He scowled. "_Chibs_ is your assistant."

"That's fine," she said. "But if you want my help, then Ollie comes too."

Tara and Jax glowered at each other for a time until finally he threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine!" he said. "Just—fix him."

Chibs gave Jax a stern look and gestured for them to follow him. "We've got him back here. Like I said, it's not bad. A wee graze, really."

"Where's Juice?" Olivia said, almost out of habit. If anyone else had been hurt surely Chibs would've said—but still.

"He and Bobby are dealin' with somethin' else," Chibs said. "Some problem at Cara Cara. Not to worry, lass: Clay and Tiggy were headin' out there, too."

The porn studio. Surely he couldn't get into too much trouble there…at least not of the life-threatening variety.

Chibs stopped in front of a door and knocked, and a rough voice called for them to come in. Happy stood just inside, and Opie was on the bed with a bloody bandage around his arm. A very bloody bandage. His face was pale and shiny beneath his beard, and Olivia could see the tension around his eyes.

Tara patted Olivia's arm in a reassuring sort of way. "Happy, could you get me some hot water? And some in a glass for Opie."

"Sure, doc," he said.

"Hey, Ope," Tara said as she approached the bed. "How's it goin'?"

"Oh, ya know. Got shot. Okay other'n that."

Olivia let out an exasperated sigh, and Opie glanced at her with a grin. "What the hell you doin' here, Gable? You gonna weld me back together?"

"Maybe," she said. "If you don't shut up."

"All right, you two," Tara said. She perched on the bed next to Opie and tugged on some gloves before she peeled the bandages back. Shit. It was a little more than a _wee graze_ like Chibs had claimed, but it looked like the bullet had gone clean through the meaty part of his arm. No major blood vessels. No bones.

"This's going to need stitches," she said. "Luckily I brought some. Opie, I'm going to inject you with a local and then get this sewn up, okay?"

"Sure, Tara. Whatever you gotta do." His eyes were trained on Olivia's face, and he lifted a brow. "You gonna hurl?"

"No," she said with a scowl. "I just don't really like the smell of blood."

She hadn't realized how little she liked it until right now, but it brought back a flood of memories. None of them good. Chibs cut her a sharp look and pressed a hand to her back.

"Maybe Jackie boy was right, lass. You're lookin' peaked."

"Go help Happy with the water, Ollie," Tara said.

She opened her mouth to protest, but another glance at the blood streaming down Opie's arm changed her mind. She spun on her heel and escaped, and out in the hall she pressed shaking hands to her face. A deep breath didn't steady her much, and she knew she needed to find a quiet place to collect herself. The guys were mostly milling around in the bar, so she ducked into the office and shut the door behind her.

The sounds from outside were instantly muffled, and she felt her entire body relax, but her mind wouldn't calm down.

It wasn't just all the old shit, the memories of blood on her hands and the smell of it filling the air, it was also the fact that it was _Opie's_ blood. Tara hadn't seemed freaked; Olivia knew Opie was going to be fine…but she couldn't shake it, the deep-in-her-belly fear that something could go wrong. Or that the next time someone decided to take a shot at him he wouldn't be so lucky. Or, or, or. Thousands of scenarios that she knew, objectively, were crazy, but she couldn't stop them.

Why had she come back here at all? Why had she let Opie—

Let him what? So close? He'd always been close. Always right there, quiet and steady and a phone call away, like in Chicago. She'd never imagined a reality that didn't include him. They'd both gotten married, fallen out of touch, but she'd still known he was _there_.

What would she do if he suddenly weren't anymore? Or if she fucked everything up and he didn't _want_ to be?

She braced her palms on the desk and closed her eyes. Took in a long breath and held it to the count of three and let it out again.

She was just starting to calm down when the door behind her opened. She spun toward the sound, and her mouth fell open when she saw Juice.

"Oh," she said. Then, because she felt like a moron, "Sorry. I meant hi."

His mouth quirked and he shut the door behind him. "Hey." He took a step closer. "You okay? You look pale and…Liv, you're shaking." Two long strides brought him to her, and he took her hands in hers.

"Your fingers are freezing." He rubbed them between his big palms, and her racing pulse started to slow. Finally.

"I thought you were at Cara Cara," she said, for lack of anything better.

"We were. Bobby and me. But Tig and Clay showed up and told us what happened to Ope—is that why you're so upset? Because of Opie? Tig said it wasn't bad."

"It's not," she said, "but Tara let me come in there with her, and he was bleeding and—" She cut herself off and her teeth sank into her lower lip.

"Ah," he said.

Of course she didn't have to explain. Of course he knew. Before everything went so wonky between them it was always so _easy_. He knew her. She knew him. They didn't have to waste time with explanations or excuses.

She closed her eyes and let her forehead fall to rest on his shoulder. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Juicy, but I've really missed you."

He grinned and squeezed her hands. "Don't take this the wrong way, Liv, but I missed you too." He lifted her chin so that their eyes met. "It was easier before you came back. Missing you, I mean. But since you've been here and we've been—it's fuckin' sucked, Olivia. I hate havin' you so close but this wall between us."

"I know what you mean," she said. "I've felt the same way. It's been better though, hasn't it? The past couple weeks?" Since his apology, she meant.

"Yeah," he said. "It's been better."

She searched his face, her look almost imploring, and after a moment she said, "You're okay, right? Were you—were you there?"

"I'm fine. I was at Cara Cara all mornin'."

"Good," she said on a sigh of relief.

"Wishin' now you'd stayed in Portland?" he said with a brief smile.

"A little," she admitted. She shuddered and her fingers tightened on his. "The second I smelled the blood it was like I was right back there. That night."

"I know," he said. "You don't gotta explain. I get it, Liv. You know I get it."

She drew in a breath. "Do you ever think if…maybe if all that hadn't happened, things would've fallen out differently between us?"

"Well yeah," he said. "Your dad wouldn't've moved you across the country, for one."

"There's that," she said.

"But, you know…everything happens for a reason." He grinned a little. "That's a bullshit cliché, I know, but I kinda believe it anyway. You needed to drop outta school and go on a big road trip and marry Ben and get divorced and—pierce—various parts of your body—"

"Ortiz!" she said, laughing.

He gave a sheepish shrug. "I just mean—you're sculpting again, right?"

"Yeah. Some of the best work I've ever done, I think."

"Okay," he said. "That should answer your question. Everything you've done, the life you lived, it got you here. Probably better not to fuck with that shit."

Her smile was soft, bittersweet, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You're a pretty wonderful human being, Juice Ortiz."

"Yeah?" he said, his eyes going bright.

"Yep. Trust me: I'm an expert."

He brushed his lips across her knuckles and took a step back. "Can I make a request? Not because I'm tryin' to be an ass or stick my nose in or anything…but just because…" He trailed off with a shrug.

Her brows drew together. "Sure," she said. "Shoot."

He scowled down at his boots. "It's just…this is way outta line, but…and I guess you can say no, but I wanna say it anyway." At her look he hurried on. "If you start seein' somebody, like kinda serious so that they might be around here—or, I don't know—somebody from the MC, or, I don't know, whoever…could you just tell me? Gimme a heads up? Just so I don't gotta find out through the rumor mill or by accident or something. I'd rather just hear it from you."

"Ope's a friend, Juice," she said. "If I were going to be involved with someone from the MC it'd be you."

Except even as she said the words she doubted their truth, because it seemed like her entire life _had_ led her back here, to Charming, to SAMCRO…and things never went the way she planned them.

He shoved his hands in the pockets on his kutte and ducked his head. He hadn't mentioned Opie by name, but it was telling that's where her mind had gone first thing. "But it's _not_ gonna be me. Right?" he finally said.

"I don't think…" She bit her lip, the furrows in her forehead deepening. "I can't answer that. I'm sorry. I know that's not fair, and I'm not trying to string you along or—look, if you meet someone, go for it. Don't wait for me. And if I meet someone, I'll tell you. Okay?"

"Fuck," he said with a rusty chuckle. "It'd be so much easier if I could just stop."

"Stop what?" she said, though she thought she knew.

"Loving you, Liv. Just turn it off. Like a switch."

"I know, Juicy," she said. "Trust me: I know."

"So what do we do? Because it doesn't seem like we can be together. Not right now."

"I don't know," she said. "I wish I did. I guess just—I guess we just gotta do the best we can. I don't want to lose you. I feel like…my life's better with you in it, Juice. I know that much."

"Yeah," he said, his mouth moving in a rueful little smile. "Mine too."

"But you're right," she said. "We can't be together. Not like that. There's just…too _much_."

There was a soft knock at the door and Tara poked her head in. Her eyes darted briefly between Juice and Olivia, and she cleared her throat. "Ollie, I'm done. Ope's kinda doped up, but he was asking for you. I think he wanted to make sure you're okay."

Olivia snorted. "Typical. He's the one who got shot." She touched Juice's elbow as she went by. "Talk later?"

"Sure, Liv," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

Tara waited until Olivia was gone before she stepped in the room and shut the door behind her. "What the fuck, Juice?"

He lifted his brows. "Hello to you too, Tara."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't fuck her up again. Just don't."

"I wasn't plannin' on it. Seriously!" he said at her scowl. "We're tryin' to be friends. I care about her. All I want is for her to be happy, and I guess I know…I guess I know I'm not the one to do it."

"Really?" Tara said, grudging and suspicious.

"Really. I swear."

Finally she nodded. "Fine," she said. "But I've got a gun and I know how to use it."

"Hear you loud and clear," he said. "But, I dunno." He winced at the memory of Opie's fist flying at his face. "I think if I ever do somethin' like that again, you'll have to get in line."

"Nah," Tara said. "Best friend trumps all. Or didn't you get the memo?"

* * *

"Opie?" Olivia said as she stuck her head around the door. "You awake?"

"Yeah, Oll," he said. "Come in."

His arm was neatly bandaged and all evidence of blood had been swept away. Olivia relaxed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "So," he said.

"So."

"Big day, huh?"

"You could say that," he said with a grin.

She cast a glare at him and turned her back. "You're a dumbass."

"What? What'd I do?"

"You got shot!"

"Well, yeah, but wasn't like it was my fault."

She crossed her arms over her stomach and hunched her shoulders. He stared at the tense curve of her back and his smile widened.

"You're pissed at me," he said. For some reason the idea tickled the hell out of him.

"Yup."

"Guess I shoulda dodged it."

"Yup."

"I will next time. _Matrix_ style."

"Good."

He swallowed down a chuckle. "Ollie, c'mere."

"I'm here," she said.

"Nah, _here_." He patted the bed next to him, on his good side. "Quit poutin'."

"I'm not _pouting_. I'm an adult. A grown-ass adult who does not _pout_."

"Uh huh. Would you just come here?"

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl and bent to unlace her boots. Kicked them away and crawled up the bed to stretch out next to him. "You can't just _do_ things like this, Opie."

"What? Get shot?" He snorted. "Wasn't my first choice, believe me."

"What would I do if something happened to you? Something serious, I mean."

"I dunno. Cry a little and move on?"

She glared at him. "I'm _serious_, Harry!"

"All right, all right," he said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Her head fell to land on his shoulder and her arm went around his middle. "You're a survivor, Oll. You'd be okay. You're always okay."

"That isn't exactly a compliment, Ope. People say that to me all the time, and it always makes me feel so…heartless. I'm not heartless."

"I know you aren't. That's not how I meant it."

"So why does everybody think I'm just okay with everything? That nothing sticks? Things stick, Opie. I'm like fuckin' velcro."

"Emotional velcro?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

He hid a smile in his beard. "I'm pretty sure people don't think you're heartless, babe. More like—you deal with things kinda different. In your own way. And you sorta…you shut people out a lot. Ever since your mom died, I guess."

She made a low noise. "It's not on purpose."

"I know," he said.

A silence fell between them and he enjoyed the feel of her against him. She was small and soft and smelled real good. His brain was fuzzy and happy, the pain in his arm far away, and he was content to float along on the cloud of drugs Tara had given him.

She sniffed, just a little. "Tara's my best friend. My forever best friend, and nobody will ever take her place."

"I know," he said again. He carded his fingers through her hair. "I'm like your surrogate best friend. The backup, in case the actual best friend can't perform her duties."

"No you're not." She poked him in the belly. "You're my…my guy best friend, which isn't quite the same, but it's still real important."

"Ahh," he said. "I see."

"Quit bein' a dick," she said.

"I'm sorry. I'm not tryin' to be a dick, just…it ain't that bad, Oll. Tara said the bullet went straight through, no big deal."

She tugged his beard until he turned his head to look at her. "It might have been a big deal. It might've missed your arm and hit your big dumb head instead."

"Geez, Olivia, your concern is heartwarming."

"I'm serious!"

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Calm down, Ollie, okay? Please? I don't want you upset."

She sniffled again, a bit harder. "I know," she said. "I'm trying. Just you know the last time I saw someone with a bullet hole it wasn't…I mean, it sucked pretty hard."

He hadn't really thought of that. "Oh," he said. "Hum." He considered it a minute. "You wanna go stab the Mayan who shot me? I think Jax'd drive you."

"Opie! God you're such an asshole!"

He laughed, sort of loose and sloppy. "You love me."

She grumbled something he didn't catch, but he was too looped to ask her about it.

"Ollie, you know what I was thinkin'?"

She looked up at him with a frown. "That you're a pain in my ass and you're damn lucky I put up with you?"

"That, yeah," he said, gravely, "but also like…your sculpture. The one I saw? It was. It was real awesome. Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds or some shit."

"You don't even like The Beatles."

"Nah, I know. I just mean that, kinda…spirit. Like, uh. _Outside_, yanno?"

She blinked at him, a smile curving her mouth. "Wow. What the fuck did Tara give you?"

"Dunno. Good shit. Think I might sleep."

"Okay," she said. She started to slip away, but he held her tight.

"Nuh uh. Stay. Please?"

She bit her lip. She had stuff to do—the blowtorch was calling her name—but she could've lost him today. No, the gunshot wasn't bad, but it could've been, and then what? She and Juice were slowly working their way back to a tenuous friendship. She had Tara, of course; would always have Tara; but what would she do without Opie?

She'd been back four months and somehow he'd made himself a permanent place in her life, like an Opie-shaped hole that only he could fill. It had been like that between them once, years ago, but after they broke up things never really went back to the way they'd been before. She'd always regretted the loss, had never fully gotten over it, and she thought he felt the same way.

"Opie—"

"S'okay. You don' gotta say nothin'. I know."

"You know what?" she said.

"Everythin'. Be here when I wake up."

He was almost asleep, and she brushed her lips against his cheek. "Sure, Ope," she said. "I'll be here."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Go to sleep."

Thirty seconds later he was snoring, but when Olivia tried to wiggle free he squeezed her against him. She sighed. Well. A nap might not be too bad.

* * *

_A lot of conflicted feelings here for everyone involved, but I'm sure it'll work out._


	13. Quick

My loves, I urge you to take a moment and re-read the summary for this fic.

I'll wait.

Back? Oh good. I hope some of you feel better now. :)

* * *

**kiss quick, i've got a line out the door**  
**who all think they can save me**  
**one by one they lay the world at my feet**  
**one by one they drive me crazy**  
Matt Nathanson, "Kiss Quick"

When Opie opened his eyes several hours later she was still curled into his side, her chest rising and falling in the even cadence of sleep. He winced as he shifted. The meds had worn off and his arm fucking _hurt_—but he didn't move her to reach for them. Instead he brushed her hair back from her face and combed his fingers through it. It had grown out a little, and now it was nearly shoulder length, a bright spill that he fanned over the pillow behind her.

She shifted, spreading out so that she was sort of on top of him, partway, kind of, but enough to get his attention. A furrow formed between her brows and he smoothed it with his thumb.

It relaxed and her eyes fluttered open, heavy and hazy from sleep.

"Oh," she murmured. Her mouth eased into a smile as she recognized him. "Hi."

That smile, so sweet and soft and…stopped his heart. Literally stopped it. He felt it start again with a stuttering jerk, but he could only blink at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"You okay?" she said. "You look pale. Do you need more drugs?"

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh. No. I mean—yeah. But in a sec."

"I don't mind—"

"In a sec, Oll."

She stilled. "Okay," she said. "In a sec." She pushed his hair behind his ear and grinned. "You need a haircut, Chewbacca."

"I'm growin' it out," he said with a grunt.

"Ohhh, I see. Really goin' for that _homeless biker Paul Bunyan_ look. All in. I gotta respect that."

"Shut up," he said even as he laughed.

She tapped the end of his nose. "All this beard and all that hair. Can't see your adorable little face, and that's a damn shame."

He rolled his eyes. "Go away, Gable."

"Fickle is man. You ready for your drugs now?"

"Nah. I'm okay."

"You're not." She ran her fingers over the lines in his forehead. Her thumb along the ones that bracketed his mouth. "You don't gotta be the big macho man, Ope. You got shot. Pain meds are sort of par for the course."

"Oh, I know. And I'm gonna take 'em, believe me. I just don't wanna check out quite yet."

Her eyes were intense on his face, searching and probing, and after a moment he shifted and looked away. "What?" he said.

She brought him back by the beard. "Nothing," she said. "I was just thinking—I know I said this before, but you were kinda doped, so maybe you don't remember. You're important to me, Ope. One of the most important people in my life. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Somehow he managed a smile, though it was shaky and not as reassuring as he might like. "Don't worry, Oll. Really don't. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Blind optimism in the face of violence. That's what I like to hear." Grinning, she leaned up to kiss his cheek again, but he turned his head to say something and their lips met instead. She gave a squeak of surprise and pulled away. "I'm sorry. I meant to—"

"Nah, no, it was me. I—"

"You didn't know I know you didn't mean to I should've—"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "It happens."

"Surprise kissing," she said with half a smile.

"Yeah. Like, ambush kissing."

"I didn't ambush you! I was going for your cheek and you turned your head."

"My big dumb head?"

"That's the one."

"Sorry. It gets in the way sometimes." He paused and their eyes met. "You could do it again. Not an ambush this time. I won't turn my head."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I'm fallin' for that one."

"C'mon, Oll. I got shot today. Have a little pity."

"That's not fair! You can't play that card!"

"Yeah I can." He poked her in the back. "Just try again, okay? I'll be still."

She gave a rough sigh. "Fine. But if you move this time—"

"I know, I know." He tilted his face toward her. "Not movin'."

There was a moment when she knew she could end this silliness and just get up. Get him his meds and walk out and that would be that. Or she could kiss him. One harmless kiss on the cheek, no big deal, and they'd both have a laugh about it. It would be weirder to refuse, give it all too much _weight_, so with a shrug she leaned in again.

He turned his head and captured her mouth and she pulled away with a breathless "Opie!" but he tugged her back. His mustache tickled; his lips were warm and chapped, firm against hers, and he tasted like sleep and whisky and cigarettes. Her fingers curled in his shirt and his hand tightened on her hip and if her pulse kicked up a few notches she tried to ignore it.

He closed his eyes and changed the angle to deepen the kiss, but he didn't try to use his tongue. Neither did she, and he didn't care, he didn't even think about it, because she tasted so damn good and kissing her felt so _right_. He wondered if she could feel the way his heart hammered in his chest or if she had any idea…

And that was when he broke away.

Of course she didn't have any idea. To her he was Opie, good buddy. He liked being her friend, _loved_ it, but that _kiss_, Jesus—

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No," she whispered. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and when she looked at him there was barely any green in her eyes for all the pupil. "Don't apologize. It was—it was fine."

"Fine?" he said, grinning a little.

"Umm…"

"Never mind," he said. "Don't answer that." He kissed her forehead, gentle and chaste. "You said I'm your best guy friend, right?"

"Of course," she said.

"Good. You're my best…friend who's a girl. I like hangin' out with you. We have a lot of laughs."

"Uh huh," she said. She blinked and tried to focus on his words. "Yeah. Of course we do. We've always been good that way."

"Right. And I don't want you to think—I don't want you thinkin' I expect somethin' from you, or…I'm lookin' for anything…more than that. Between us, I mean."

"Oh," she said as his meaning became clearer. Her expression faltered for a moment before she smiled at him. "Nah, of course not. I know you're not like that. Besides, you've got the crow eaters."

He frowned. "The crow eaters?" What did they have to do with anything?

"Yeah, you know. If you need like—I mean if you get—" She waved her hand. "You don't need to sleep with me, I mean, if you get the urge to sleep with someone."

"Oh. Huh." His eyes dropped to her mouth and back up again. "Olivia, you know…" Laughing, he shook his head. She could be so clueless sometimes. "If I had the urge to sleep with you, it wouldn't be because I'm horny and need a quick fuck. It'd be because it's _you_. Ain't no crow eater gonna help with that."

She shifted against him, pulling away a bit, and her head tilted as she thought it over. "I'm not quite sure how to respond to that."

"Don't," he said. "We're good, Oll. We'll always be good. Don't think so hard."

"Okay. I'll work on not breathing while I'm at it."

He sighed. "Quit bein' a smartass and go get me my drugs. Please?"

If she scrambled off the bed a little too fast, neither of them chose to comment on it. Instead she opened the pack of pills and handed them to him, along with the glass of water.

"You should get some more rest," she said as she took the glass back. "I'll leave you to it."

"Sure," he said. "Thanks for stayin' before."

"Of course." She grinned, the dimple in her chin flashing. "What are friends for?" With that she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her, and he let his head fall back to blink up at the ceiling.

_Not_ for kissing. He could've sworn she'd felt it too, that heady rush and engulfing heat, but she'd seemed so normal after. So casual. He could be casual too, if casual was what she wanted. If she wanted to pretend it hadn't happened, or at least pretend that it hadn't been so—then he could too.

Friends. Buddies. Pals. Compadres. Amigos.

And not the kind that made out and ripped each other's clothes off and—

He cut that thought off. The pain in his arm was strangely steadying, and it was comforting to know there wouldn't be any clothes-ripping while he healed. It gave him an excuse (as if he needed one; she was his _friend_) to ignore the way that kiss had felt, and the memory of it lingering on his lips.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep. _Without_ thinking about Ollie.

* * *

For the second time that day Olivia found herself in the clubhouse hallway shaking and on the verge of a panic attack. She rubbed her sweating palms over the thighs of her jeans and took a deep breath to try to steady herself, but it wasn't doing much good. She needed to get out of here—again—and fast.

She straightened, but before she could move Tara appeared at the end of the hall. "Ollie?" she said. "Are you okay? Is Opie—?"

"He's fine. I just gave him some more pain meds and he said he was going to try to sleep."

"So why—?" She frowned. "He's fine, Olivia. It really was a minor injury, and—"

"No, I know." She gripped Tara's arm. "Meet me at the garage? As soon as you're done here. We need to talk."

"Yeah, of course. I just have to check in on Ope and I'll be on my way."

"Great." Olivia squeezed her in a quick hug and then hurried away. She still held her boots in her hand; Tara wondered when she'd realize she was in her sock feet.

Opie was already asleep, and Tara didn't bother peeling back the bandage. There didn't seem to be any seepage, and thanks to the Oxy he looked comfortable enough. She pulled the covers up a little and then went to find Olivia.

Jax waylaid her near the office, but when he jerked his chin toward the closed door she shook her head. "I don't have time right now, Jackson. I've got places to be."

He let out a sigh. "How's Ope?"

"He's gonna be fine," she said, softening a little. "He's in pain, of course, but the drugs will help. Oh, but. No riding for at least a week. I'd prefer two."

"What?" Jax said. "You tell him that?"

"Yep. Ollie's going to drop me by Opie's place and I'll drive his truck back over here. But he shouldn't be behind the wheel at all for a few days, especially if he's taking Oxy."

"Yeah, I got it." He paused, his expression stern. "Tara, we gotta talk about this."

"About what? Opie? Aren't we talking about that now?"

"Not Opie!" he said. He lowered his voice. "About you and me."

She lifted a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. "There is no _you and me_ anymore, Jax. And even if there were—you've known I'm back eight hours. I think it can wait a minute."

"Tara—"

"Jax. I'm sorry. I can't right now."

"Later then. Soon."

She sighed and brushed a hand over her forehead. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about, but…fine. I'll be around the next day or so checking in on Opie, so…sometime."

His blue eyes were imploring, a look she remembered well, and for a moment her resolve wavered. Then she pulled herself taller and shook her head. "I've gotta go. Keep an eye on Opie's bandage; if the wound starts to seep or it turns red and hot, or if he starts running a fever, call me immediately. Okay?"

"Yeah, Tara," he said on a frustrated breath. "I got it."

She nodded and lifted a hand. Hesitated a brief moment before she patted his arm and smiled. "I'll be around," she said. She didn't wait for him to say anything else before she made her escape. Quick goodbyes to the guys as she passed through the bar, then a short jog across the lot.

Olivia had put her boots back on at some point, and she was currently stomping around cleaning up the day's mess. Tara paused in the doorway and watched her.

"Okay," she said, "what happened?"

Olivia turned toward her with a jerk and, like her strings had been cut, slumped against the table behind her. "Oh my God, Tara, it's bad. Like, real bad."

"What did Juice do? I told him—"

"Not Juice for once. Opie."

Tara's brow creased in confusion and she shut the door before she crossed to her. "I don't get it. What could Opie have possibly done to get you so worked up?"

Olivia looked away and scuffed her boot against the concrete floor. "He—we—" She bit off a sigh. "There was a kiss."

"A kiss? You and Opie…kissed? Oll, I know it was a while ago, but there was a six month period in tenth grade when you and Opie practically didn't _stop_ kissing."

"I remember, Tara, trust me…but that was…not the same thing. At all."

Tara studied her. "Wow," she said. "This isn't quite under-the-mistletoe levels, but that must've been some kiss."

"It wasn't—I mean—it wasn't _like_ that. It was just friendly."

"A friendly kiss. Right. Between two friends."

"That's what I said," Olivia said with a huff. "You don't have to be so goddamn smug."

"I'm not!" She swallowed down a grin and leaned on the table next to Olivia. "Tell me what happened."

"It wasn't a big deal, really. I went to kiss his cheek, just like _hey glad you didn't die_, and he turned his head at the wrong time."

"Bam, lips."

"Yeah, bam. So then he asked me to try again and promised he wouldn't move…"

"But he did."

"Uh huh."

"That sneaky fuck. Then what happened?"

Olivia fidgeted. "We kissed. Do I need to draw you a diagram?"

"Ollie. Please. Was it like…I mean…did he get grabby? Was there tongue? Did you have to fight the urge to push him down and have your way with him?"

"Tara!"

She didn't say anything, just waited, and finally Olivia relented.

"A little, but not inappropriately so. No, no tongue. And…yes…? A…tiny bit, maybe."

"Oh my God!" She smacked Olivia with the back of her hand.

"Ow."

"Olivia Jameson, don't you ever try to lie to me again!"

"What are you talking about?"

"This morning you were all _nah we're just buddies_ and a few hours later you're making out—"

"It was a _kiss_. Hardly _making out_."

"And trying not to rip his clothes off!"

"Christ. Look, okay. Opie and I _are_ friends. Nothing else. Yeah, he's a good looking guy, and I guess maybe I'm attracted to him—but that's it. And, come on, I haven't had sex in _ages_. Gimme a break."

"A couple of months is hardly ages, Olivia," Tara said.

"It kind of is for me, and that encounter with Juice in the bathroom didn't really satisfy much of anything—despite the orgasm."

"So talk to Opie about it. He'd probably be down for a little fun, and then you'd both feel better."

Olivia scowled down at her feet. "Yeah, I guess," she muttered.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just…I'm not in the mood."

"For sex?" Tara said, astounded.

"Well, no. Sex would be nice. I more meant…a hookup."

"Babe, you think too hard."

"Yeah, that's what Opie said."

"And he's right." Tara took her by the arms and gave her a little shake. "So you fall for Opie. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He doesn't feel the same way and it ruins our friendship forever?"

Her lips pursed. "Okay, that's kinda bad. _But_ what if he _does_ feel the same way?"

"I can't even think about that, Tara."

"Then don't! Just calm down. Things've been fine, right? You two just hang out, shoot the shit, have some laughs? Like you said this morning."

"Yeah…?"

"Okay then." She made an impatient gesture. "Just keep going. Relax. Flipping out about it won't help anything."

Olivia chewed her lip, and her eyes were far away. "He's gotten really hot, right? It's not just my imagination? I mean, he was cute in high school, but in that kinda dorky way. These days with the beard and the—he's hot."

Tara laughed. "Yeah, he's pretty hot."

"Glad to know it isn't just me."

"Nah, it's not just you. Though, I don't know, you are the only one taking advantage of his drug-addled state to—"

"Tara Grace!"

She grinned and tossed her arm over Olivia's shoulders. "Come on, worrywart. Buy me some dinner before I starve to death. It's been one hell of a day."

* * *

A week later and Opie's arm was healing nicely. He hadn't seen much of Olivia, but according to Tara she'd been locked in her work shed nearly all week. He'd only just been given clearance to drive, so he hadn't been by her house since before the shooting.

He pulled into her driveway to find her perched on the front steps, a glass of what looked like iced tea in her hand. She waved and pushed herself to her feet, and they met halfway between his truck and the house.

"Hey," he said. "I expected you to be working."

"I have been." She offered him the glass and he took a long sip before he handed it back. "But I'm finished."

"Finished?" he said. "_Finished_ finished?"

"Yep. With this series, anyway." She grinned and bit her lip. "Wanna see?"

"Fuck yeah. Lead on."

"How's the arm?" she asked as they walked.

"Better. Still sore, and Tara won't clear me to ride yet. She says another week at least."

"Bummer. She's a tough one, that Dr. Knowles."

"Don't know what the fuck she knows about arms anyway," he said with a scowl. "She's a baby doctor."

Olivia grinned. "Pretty sure you've gotta learn basically all of it before you decide you wanna fix babies full-time."

"I guess so," he grumbled.

She stopped at the door and cast a look over her shoulder. "Be nice, okay? I mean, don't _lie_, but be nice."

"Oll, come on. I'm sure they're great."

She flashed a quick, nervous smile before she opened the padlock and gestured for him to follow her inside. She flicked on the lights and he froze.

"Whoa," he said.

The big one he'd seen her working on a couple weeks ago was done, and it dominated the space, but the smaller ones surrounded it like eager disciples. They all followed the same basic concept: curving, organic glass versus rigid metal; but like she'd said, they had a variety of colors and patterns and…moods.

He caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye, and he cleared his throat. He'd been quiet too long. "Shit, Ollie. Wow. These are fuckin' amazing. Really."

"You think?" she said on a breath.

"I told you before, didn't I? But all together they're like…wow. Holy shit."

Her grin brightened the room and she threw herself at him. He caught her in an awkward one-arm hug and gave a hiss of pain when she squeezed.

"Oh!" she said, pulling back. "I'm so sorry! Your arm!"

"Nah," he said with a smile. "Worth it."

A frown appeared on her brow and she touched his face with light fingers. "I missed you this week. Sorry I haven't been around, but I needed to get this done. Like, _needed_."

He caught her hand in his and laced their fingers together. "Tara told me what you were up to, and I get it. Sorta, I guess." His mouth quirked. "You been eatin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Relax, mother hen; Tara's been bringing me food. Otherwise, um…okay, yeah, I probably would've forgotten."

They were still holding hands, but neither seemed to notice. Their eyes met and pink brushed over her cheeks. He grinned, couldn't help himself, and she laughed.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing." Her nose scrunched, but it was a happy scrunch. "I've got news."

"Good news?"

"Yep."

He tilted his head and raised their joined hands to poke her. "You gonna tell me or make me guess?"

"Tempting, but…" She bounced on her toes a little, giddy with excitement. "The reason I had to get it all done is because my agent called earlier this week. There's a gallery in New York—like a big gallery, an important one—that wants me. For a _solo show_, Opie!"

"What? Oll, that's awesome!" He frowned. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well…" She took a deep breath and tugged her hand from his so she could pace. "I'll have to go to New York for a while. For the installation and the opening and then stay at _least_ another week in case rich people wanna schmooze. It's a huge deal. Like…I could potentially get a patron? Maybe? Patrons aren't always all they're cracked up to be, but it would mean _money_, and that would mean sculpting full time."

"Wow," he said again. "That's awesome, Oll. For real." He watched her as she circled the room. "So, like. How long?"

"Hmm?"

"In New York. How long would you be gone?"

"Oh." She tapped a fingertip against her chin as she considered, and he could tell she was adding it up in her head. "A month? Maybe a little longer."

"Huh," he said.

Her gaze zeroed in on him. "What?"

"Nothin'. I'm real happy for you, Ollie. You deserve it."

"But…?"

He offered a sheepish smile. "It's selfish as hell, but…I'm really gonna miss you. A month's a long time."

Her mouth softened and she stepped closer. "I know, Ope. That's the only downside."

He shuffled his feet a little. "If you do get a patron, would you have to move to New York?"

"Nah, it doesn't work like that. I mean, I'd have to travel out there more than I might like, but…basically, depending on the flow, they'd get me some studio space wherever I work best—which happens to be Charming, strangely enough—and they'd pop in from time to time to check my progress. See what their money's paying for. That kinda thing."

"Then I guess you really will be famous," he said.

"Yup. I'll get a _Vanity Fair_ cover and everything." She grinned at him, her dimple flashing, but after a moment it faded. "You know, Opie, I couldn't've done this without you."

"Me? What, I held the torch for you?"

"That's not what I meant." She shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Just—since I've been here, you've…you've steadied me. Helped me keep my head together."

"Good ol' Ope," he said, and he couldn't hide the faint trace of bitterness in his tone.

"That's not exactly what I meant." She was so close now she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and with a frustrated frown she tugged on his beard to pull him down. "You matter, Opie," she said, quietly.

"To you?"

"Yeah. To me."

A brief hesitation, then he cupped her face in his hand and let his thumb rub along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, but before their lips could meet they heard the sound of a bike in the driveway. They jumped apart like they'd been shocked, and Olivia laughed, bright and antsy.

"Oops," she said. "That's probably Chibs. I asked him to bring me some tools from the shop so I could fix the torch. It's been acting a little weird and—"

"You don't gotta explain, Oll."

"Explain what?" she said, frowning.

"You invited Chis over." He hitched his good shoulder. "You don't gotta explain why."

"It's not—" She broke off and tried to smile. "It's not like that, Opie. Trust me."

He looked away. "If it were—that'd be okay. I mean, you don't…you don't owe me anything."

"You said that before. The day you were shot, remember?"

"Yeah," he said. "I meant it."

She gave an impatient wave of her hand. "Stop saying it. I know I don't owe you anything, besides maybe gratitude because you're—but I never thought I owed you anything _else_."

She grabbed a handful of his t-shirt before he could escape, and her eyes were bright and steady on his. "If something happens here, Opie, it's because I want it to. Okay? Not out of any sense of _obligation_, or even nostalgia."

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "What's gonna happen, Olivia?"

She let go and took a step back. "I don't know," she said. "But I just wanted to make sure we were clear in case anything _did_."

"Lass?" Chibs' voice floated in from the yard, and Olivia turned toward it.

"We're good, Ope," she said. "Let's keep it that way."

_Yep_, he thought as she disappeared through the door. _Real good, Oll._

Apart from, of course, the shattering realization that somewhere between _welcome back to Charming_ and _I'm going to New York for a month or more_, he'd fallen for her. Fallen hard and deep and _painful_, like a vise around his heart every time he saw her. A sweet pain, though. A burning, velvety ache.

And she had no clue.

* * *

_Waugh waugh._


	14. A Thousand Miles

And we're back! Enjoy. :)

* * *

**a thousand miles seems pretty far**  
**but they've got planes and trains and cars**  
**i'd walk to you if i had no other way**  
Plain White T's, "Hey There Delilah"

Olivia loved New York. She really did. The food. The museums. The _people_. She loved the subway and the park and…everything.

Except she hated all those things, too. She missed the laid-back vibe of Charming. The quiet. The _air_. She missed California in general, and she realized just how right she'd been when she told Opie she was a West coast girl at heart.

She missed Opie. Tara, too, of course, and Juice a bit. Even Jax. She missed the garage and her house. But most of all she missed Opie. She'd felt disjointed and out of sorts ever since her plane landed, and the feeling only got worse as the days passed.

One week and three days, and by far the longest she'd gone without speaking to Opie since she got back to Charming.

Would it be weird to call him? Would that be too…something? Clingy? Or send the wrong message? She paced around and around her sofa and chewed her lip. He'd probably be glad to hear from her. Maybe he was missing her as much as she missed him.

Doubtful. He had the MC and Jax and everybody. He was busy.

As if she weren't busy in New York. Her agent had her running like a mad woman, shopping her older work to smaller galleries and going to meetings with various board members for the SoHo gallery that was showing the new stuff. She had three major dinner party…meeting…things next week, and she had to buy clothes for all of them.

She was a clotheshorse, but formal wear fit for an Upper East Side dinner party wasn't exactly a staple of her wardrobe.

"Fuck it," she muttered and dialed Opie's number. She thought it was going to hit voicemail, and she'd already started composing a message in her head (she fucking hated voicemail) when he answered.

"Ollie? Is everything okay?"

Her mouth fell open a little and she almost laughed. "Yeah, Ope. Everything's fine. Hi, by the way."

He let out a breath. "Hi. Sorry. I just—"

"What? I can't call unless there's an emergency?"

"Well, no, I didn't mean that, but it's midnight there, so I thought…never mind. So it's good? You're good?"

Now she did laugh. She fell onto the couch and pulled the throw over her legs. "It's good. I'm good. How are you?" There was a squeak, like maybe of bedsprings, and she frowned. "I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

He frowned at the phone. "Like what?"

"I don't know. What kind of thing does a strapping young lad like yourself get up to at nine o'clock on a Thursday?"

"I ate Spaghetti O's from the can and decided to turn in early."

"Oh my God," she said.

"Yeah." He flicked the bedside lamp off. "Hang on," he said and put the phone aside as he beat his pillow into shape and got the covers fixed. "Okay, sorry."

"So you're in bed. That's what you're telling me."

"Ollie."

She snickered. Picked at the blanket a little. "So how're things?"

"Things?" he said. "Things're fine. How's New York?"

"I said it's good."

"Uh huh."

He knew her, knew her moods and her voice and…well. _Her_. Olivia. And he could tell something was wrong. Not anything catastrophic, but something. He closed his eyes to imagine how her face would look, the nose scrunched a little and a line between her brows. He wanted to kiss the scrunch, soothe the line with his thumb…

She huffed out a breath, and the sound of it pulled him out of his revery. "It is!" she said.

"So then why are you callin' me?" he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

"Duh. I missed you."

"That's weird," he said. "I barely even noticed you were gone."

She bit her lip around a smile. "Asshole."

"Yep." He cleared his throat. "For real, I actually…I guess maybe I missed you a little, too."

"Wow, Ope, my nethers are all aquiver."

His brain blanked for a split second, and by the time he was back he could hear her laughter rolling through the phone. "Shut up," he muttered. "I don't need to hear a goddamn thing about your _nethers_, quivering or otherwise."

She giggled while he grumbled, then after a moment she said, "Tell me something good that happened today."

His response was instantaneous: "You called."

She let out a soft, surprised laugh and heat flushed her cheeks. "Opie," she said.

He grinned, loving the sound of her laugh. Clearing his throat he said, "Seriously? Umm…oh, I know. The odometer in the truck rolled over to two hundred thousand."

"_Seriously_?" she echoed.

"Yeah, Oll, come on. Two hundred kay is a big deal! And it's still goin' strong. I might be able to get another hundred thousand out of it."

"God you're such a _boy_."

"Huh. I'd accept that if you didn't love cars as much as me."

She smoothed the blanket over her knee as she grinned. "Yeah, I guess that's a point."

"What about you? Tell me something good that happened to you today."

Her smile morphed into a frown as she thought it over. There'd been good things. Of course there had. "Um. Oh, well, tomorrow I get to go to Barney's and buy clothes for these parties next week."

"Hum," he said, doubtfully. He knew she loved to shop, but… "That's not until tomorrow. _Today_, Oll."

"Okay, okay. Today I…I spent a couple hours with the Impressionists in the Met, drawing."

"Drawing? Oll, you're a sculptor."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. Why do you think I was with the Impressionists? It's hard to tell how much you suck when you're drawing fuzzy haystacks."

"Good point." A brief lull fell, and for a moment he just listened to the quiet sound of her breath. "I do, though."

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Miss you," he said. "Every day."

"Good," she said, her voice warm and low. "I miss you too."

* * *

The next night he called her. The conversation was light and easy, just small talk really, but when she hung up she felt better than she had since she got to the city.

* * *

The night after, she called him. He asked her what she'd bought at Barney's, and he closed his eyes to imagine her in each one of the dresses she described. He only felt a little guilty about it, until she called him on it.

"I'm not telling you about my visit to the lingerie department."

He started. "Huh?" He almost rolled off the couch in surprise. "What?"

She giggled. "Close your eyes," she said.

"Ollie, I wasn't—"

"_Close_ your _eyes_."

He sighed. "Fine. Eyes are closed."

"Good." She grinned. "Now picture Jesus, because you are a _very bad man_!"

"Oh my God, Olivia."

"Exactly."

After that it became their routine: every night one of them would call the other. They usually recapped their days, made each other laugh a little, talked about what they had on the agenda for the next day, and that was that. No big deal. Just chatting.

But for Olivia, her conversations with Opie were the best part of her day. It was the same for him, but getting either of them to admit it would require an act of Congress and two minor miracles. It didn't matter, though: they could tell. He could hear the smile and the relief in her voice, and she could hear the delight and anticipation in his (as stoic as he was).

"I had some amazing pizza today," she said on day four.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Coal oven. We should open a coal oven pizza place."

"You can't cook for shit, Olivia."

"Details, Harry. Don't try to drag me down."

**Day six  
**"You should go see a show," he said.

"Like, Broadway?"

"No, dumbass. That naked cowboy guy in Times Square. Yes, _Broadway_."

"I was thinking about it, actually." She paused. "What would you see if you were here?"

"_The Lion King_," he said without thinking.

"What?" she said with a surprised laugh.

He blushed. "It was my favorite movie when I was a kid. I think it'd be awesome. Don't you?"

"Yeah, Ope," she said. "I'd love to see _The Lion King_."

"Maybe we could go together," he said, then immediately kicked himself.

"If you came here, you mean, or if the tour came to San Francisco or something?"

"Uh." He was thrown a little by her easy tone. She clearly wasn't worried about it. "Either? I don't know."

"Hhmm," she said. "That's a good idea. It's a date." She closed her eyes as the word passed her lips and let her forehead drop to her hand. "I mean—not a _date_ date, just—"

"Oll, it's fine. If I don't buy you food it's not a date, right?"

"Is that how it works?"

"I think so."

She laughed. "Fine. A show but no dinner. A not-date it is."

**Day ten  
**"No, Oll, no. It's not like that! Picard wouldn't want Riker risking the ship to come rescue him from the Borg. He just wouldn't."

"Except it's not just about _Picard_, is it? When he gets Borged they get access to his memories, right? All his knowledge? He's a Captain, dude. Imagine the Federation secrets the Borg know now! And the more they Borg him, the more they get. Riker _had_ to rescue him, and I think Picard'd understand that."

"You're such a fuckin' nerd," he said with a snort.

"Please. You started it."

There was a pause. Then, from Opie, "Okay, but, _Khan_, man!"

**Day twelve  
**"Opie, please, there's no way the Mustang is better than the Cougar. That's just crazy talk."

"They're the same on the inside anyway, so I don't see what the big deal is." He was baiting her, but it was so much fun when she got all worked up.

"Oh my God. Why do I even _talk_ to you? Yes, they have the same engine block, but _seriously_?"

"Okay, okay. Hear me out, though: _Porsches_."

"Oh fuck you."

He burst out laughing. "You're gonna hang up on me, aren't you?"

"Seriously thinking about it."

"Wait, okay, before you do—what're you wearing?"

"Opie Winston!"

"What, like a shirt with my face on it? Geez, Oll, that's a little much don't you think?"

"I'm hanging up now."

"Talk tomorrow?"

"We better," she said, then he heard the click of her disconnecting.

He stared down at the phone in his hand, a little shocked at himself. She'd taken it as a joke, and he was glad, but what if she'd taken him seriously? Would it have pissed her off, or (maybe _worse_) would she've answered the question?

_Get it together, Winston_, he thought. He'd never forgive himself if he fucked this up. Pushed her too hard or too fast and she ran the other way. Or decided she just wanted a hook up after all, because while he imagined a hook up would be fun, it definitely wasn't what he wanted from her.

And he really didn't think it was what she wanted from him, either—but maybe that was just blind optimism on his part.

Maybe.

**Day sixteen  
**"I ever tell you why Ben and I split? Like, finally and for real?"

There was a pause. He took a sip of his beer. "I know you…didn't feel the same way about him he did about you."

"Mmhhmm," she said.

"What are you eating?"

"Noodles. There's this great noodle shop down the block. If I ever get you out here I'll take you."

She'd been mentioning that the last few days, casually slipping _if you come out_ or _if you ever visit_ into their conversations, and every time it gave him a quiet little thrill. She wanted him to come visit her. She wanted to see him.

"You buy me food, it's a date," he said, almost without realizing it. He winced and waited as he held his breath.

"I'm aware of that," she said after a moment. "We could go Dutch, I guess."

"You don't sound thrilled with that idea. You gettin' cheap on me, Gable?"

She chuckled. "No. The opposite, actually." She chewed on her fork. "I'd be happy to buy you some noodles, Ope. You just gotta get your big ass to New York."

"If I'd known there was free food and a date with you in it for me, I woulda been on a plane last week."

"I don't put out on the first date, just so you know."

"Oh. Well fuck never mind then."

"God, Opie," she said as she laughed. "When did you get so fuckin' smooth?"

He was glad she couldn't see him blush. "I'm not; I promise. I just like makin' you laugh." He cleared his throat and hurried on before the moment could turn awkward. "Anyway, you were sayin'? About you and Ben?"

"Mmm," she said. If he wanted to drop it, she could drop it. "Yeah, that was part of it, for sure. But one day he came home and told me he'd been having an affair."

"Whoa," Opie said. "For how long?"

She shrugged and picked at her noodles. "A few months. I asked if he loved her, and he said yes…but that he loved me, too, and he was willing to try again if I was. He said he would end it with her and we could try again to—"

"Make things work," he said when she broke off.

"Yeah."

That wasn't what she'd been about to say, but he knew better than to push. "I'm guessing you turned him down."

"I did, but—first I asked if she loved him. He told me she did, and I asked if she made him happy. He said she did, so…I told him he should be with her."

Opie grunted. "You think you didn't make him happy?"

Her smile was rueful and she set her bowl aside. "How happy would you be married to someone who _cared_ a whole lot, but would never quite feel the same way you did?"

"Hhmm." Eyes shut, he imagined entwining his fingers with hers, his thumb rubbing the soft skin on the back of her hand. Kissing her fingers and tickling her sides with his free hand until she was breathless with laughter. He hated hearing her so _sad_.

"What about you?" he said. "Did it make _you_ happy being married to someone you didn't love?"

There was a pause, then she took a deep breath. "It didn't make me _miserable_, but…neither of us were as happy as we could be. We both knew we never should've gotten married."

He sighed and opened his eyes again. "What made you think about all that?"

"We sent out the invitations to the opening today."

"And you invited Ben?"

"Well, yeah," she said. "If it weren't for him I might never've started sculpting. And it was his old gallery that gave me my first break in Portland. So. Yeah. I invited Ben." A pause. "I also invited you. And, I mean," she hurried to add, "nearly everyone from Charming. I'm not expecting the club to roll up on some fancy-ass art gallery, but…I'm hoping a couple of you can come."

He blinked in surprise. "You mean me?"

She laughed. "I don't hate that idea."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I don't either."

**Day eighteen  
**"You're eating, right?"

"Opie, Jesus, I'm eating nearly every time we talk."

"Yeah, but…"

"Stop worrying! You're such a mother hen sometimes."

"Just need to make sure you're okay."

"Mmhmm," she said. Then, "Tell me something good."

"Ummm…oh, okay, so when otters sleep they hook arms so they don't drift away from each other."

"Wow," she said, smothering a giggle behind her hand. "That's the cutest thing I've ever heard. Like a little otter congo line."

"Cong_a_ line, genius."

"Hum. Whatever. It's cute either way."

"Uh huh," he said, trying not to laugh at her. "Or they wrap themselves in kelp, like sleeping bags. And, and! They have a little pocket under their arms where they keep their favorite rock that they use to, like, open shellfish and just to play and stuff."

"Opie, did you look up facts about otters so you'd have something good to tell me?"

A pause before, sheepishly, "Yeah."

"Wow," she said again, her voice going soft. "That's almost as cute as otter congo lines."

**Day twenty-two  
**He finally got the invite nearly a week after she first mentioned it, and as soon as he got home that night he called her. "So I opened my mailbox today and there was this fancy envelope."

"Oh yeah? You win somethin'?"

"Maybe. But this looks like an invitation. To some…I dunno. Black tie event?"

She grinned and pulled the covers up higher—she was in bed and had been almost asleep when the phone rang. "Yeah, but, if you don't want to go full tux you don't have to." She paused. "If you can come at all, I mean."

"I'd like to," he said.

Her voice went quiet. "I'd like you to."

"Yeah?" He tried to smother a grin. "You just sayin' that to be polite?"

She snorted. "When have I ever said anything just to be polite?"

"Some time. Surely."

"Shut up, Winston. Are you coming or not?"

He shifted, and he heard her soft laugh when the bedsprings squeaked.

"You in bed?"

"Yep. You?"

"Uh huh. Looks like we're in bed together."

"Figures: I finally get you in bed and you're on the other side of the continent."

"Close your eyes," she said.

"What? Why?"

She let out a huff. "Just do it, Ope. Humor me."

"Fine," he said, feeling silly. Last time she'd had him do this she'd told him to picture Jesus. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. "Okay," he said. "They're closed."

She let hers drift shut, too, and she sighed, soft and sweet. "If I were there right now I'd curl up against you. Like I was when you woke me up after we fell asleep together the day you got shot. Remember?"

"Yeah," he said. "I remember." He hesitated. Then, "Difference is I got two workin' arms now."

"Oh?" she said, her tone teasing. "The better to fight me off with, my dear?"

"Yeah, right. More like…" The image was in his head in full on 3D, larger than life and so real he could almost smell her shampoo. Fuck it.

"The better to pull you closer," he said. "Wrap—wrap them around you and…" He trailed off. He'd gone from feeling silly to feeling downright stupid. He might've just made a huge mistake.

"And what, Opie?" she murmured. "Tell me?"

"Just, um." His face was hot and he was glad she couldn't see him. "Hold you, Oll. I'd really love to hold you."

She made a low noise that he felt like a caress. "I'd love that too."

"Because we're pals," he said. "Right? Buddies?"

She laughed. "Exactly, Opie. _Pals_."

They both went quiet, and he could hear the sounds of the city outside her loft. He wondered how she slept with all that noise.

"I don't wanna fuck this up, Ollie," he said in a rush.

"I don't either," she said. She flipped onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hand. "I'm really good at fucking things up."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm not trying to be self-pitying or anything."

"Olivia—"

"Opie," she said on a breath. "Tell me again you miss me." It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but she was afraid of what he might've said if she hadn't interrupted him—but anyway. It got close to the truth without going over, like emotional _The Price is Right_.

"I—fuck, Oll, I miss you like crazy. Every day. I see shit that makes me think about you or hear something that'd make you laugh, or a song I know you'd like on the radio. These talks are the best part of my day. That sounds so lame, but—"

"No," she said. "No, not lame at all. They're the best part of my day, too."

"Really?"

"Duh. I have about five thousand pictures I've taken while I've been here, and at least three quarters of them are things I took thinking about you. I know it's dumb to be a twenty-nine-year-old woman and be _homesick_, but I am. And every time I hear your voice it reminds me…" She let the thought trail away, afraid she'd said too much.

"Reminds you of what?" he said in a voice gone thick.

"Of why Charming is home to me," she said all at once, before she could chicken out. "Because you're there. Because you—being with you, talking to you, making you laugh—is home to me." She slapped a hand to her face and groaned. "Oh my God, Opie, I shouldn't—"

"Stop," he said. "Jesus, Oll, you got no idea how bad I wanna kiss you right now."

"I think I have _some_ idea," she said through a laugh. Then, quietly. "Come to New York, Opie. Not because I need you and you're riding to my rescue, like Chicago, but just because…I want you. I want you here and you want to be here."

"I do want to be there."

She bit her lip, feeling totally out of her depth. "I know you've got a lot going on, with the club and work and everything, so if you can't—"

"I'll try," he said. "I wanna be there, Ollie, and I'll do everything I can. Okay?"

She smiled and wiped at her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. What an idiot. "Okay," she said. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You know. The usual. Putting up with me. Being you."

"Ah, I gotcha. Same ol', same ol'."

"Yep," she said.

He tugged at his beard and grinned. "So, Oll…what're you wearing?"

"Oh my God!" she said as she giggled. "Shut up, Winston. One day I'm gonna answer that question and then what'll you do?"

"That's easy," he said with a snort. "I'd describe how I'd peel every stitch of clothing off you. Slowly. You know, like unwrapping a really great present at Christmas."

Her breath caught, but she tried to hide it. They'd never—sure, they teased back and forth sometimes, and there was a chance he was doing that now…but somehow she didn't think so. She could laugh it off and they could move on, or she could…

"What if I said I was naked?" she said.

He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer, and she cursed herself for pushing it. He'd been teasing. He hadn't meant it. Maybe if she made a joke she could defuse it before things got weird. She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it.

"Then I'd skip straight to the part where I kiss you all over," he said, and the roughness in his voice made her shiver.

Her eyes flew open, big and wide. "Opie—" she breathed.

"Shhh," he said. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. Just—just listen."

She bit her lip. It still wasn't too late. She could stop this now, and they could laugh about it later. Except she didn't want to stop it. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I'm listening," she whispered.

He closed his eyes again and hooked his arm behind his head. His mouth moved in an easy smile even as his heart pounded. He felt like he was outside of himself, watching, because he honestly couldn't believe he was saying these things to Olivia—and that she was _letting_ him.

"I'd start with your neck," he said. "The part where it just starts to curve into your shoulder? You smell so good there…"

It went on like that for over an hour, his voice like warm velvet, and she'd had no idea laconic, taciturn Opie could be so goddamn _poetic_. He never got explicit. Or crude. But every word painted a picture so clear she could practically feel the brush of his lips or caress of his palm.

It had been unexpected. Shocking, almost, because he was also so…shy, maybe? Not quite that, but more…self-contained. An iceberg.

She chewed a fingernail as she thought it over. She'd known since that day he kissed her, the day he got shot, that there was something more between them than just casual friendship. He had feelings for her; she wasn't blind. But it was a terrible idea, and she didn't feel the same way.

She couldn't. He was…Opie. Just. Opie. They'd tried when they were fifteen, and it had been clear they just weren't _meant_ like that.

_Fifteen was a long-ass time ago_, she thought.

It was impossible to tell anything like this, over the phone with an entire continent between them. Maybe she just missed him a whole lot. Maybe when she saw him this weird…brain-fog thing…would lift and it'd all be clear again

All the more reason for him to come to the opening. They'd dress up; she'd schmooze while he looked big and scary and kept the creepers away; they'd drink some champagne and have a few laughs and things would go back to the way they'd been before she heard him describe how he imagined the small of her back would look by candlelight—just before he tasted it.

She shivered.

Opie Winston.

Who would've guessed?

* * *

_Opie Winston, you smooth motherfucker._


	15. Drown

Hi, guys! In the day or so I was gone I've been busy. :) I've created a new sideblog on tumblr JUST for my soa fic stuff. The url is juiceinpanties, so if you're interested just in the fic and not, like...Hannibal and cute cats and all the shit I post on the main blog, there's an option for you. :) Also there'll be stuff I post there that's not anywhere else, bc sometimes I just fuck around and write shit that I don't want to really put anywhere, so.

Anyway...

* * *

**and you move like water**  
**i could drown in you  
**Better Than Ezra, "A Lifetime"

Olivia was exhausted by the time she got back to the loft that night, but she still had to call Tara. It had been an insane day of running around, arranging, setting lighting—the gallery's owner, Cary Sparrow, had taken some sort of strange and instant dislike to Olivia, and she made everything about five hundred times harder than it had to be. Luckily her assistant, Brad, was cool, and he helped smooth things over.

Olivia put some leftover pizza in the oven to heat, poured a glass of wine, and picked up the phone.

"Ollie! How's New York?"

"Busy. And kinda lonely," she said with a grin.

"Nice. Good to see nothing's changed. Um, listen, I got your invite…"

"That's why I'm calling, actually."

"I figured." Tara sighed. "I'm sorry, babe. I can't get away from the hospital. We've got one of our main pediatricians out with knee surgery, and—"

"It's okay," she said. "I understand. I'll miss you, but it's really okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! You're saving tiny babies. Livin' the dream! Who can argue with that?"

"Hey, you're livin' the dream too. Big New York solo show!"

"I know. Not even thirty and we're both taking the world by storm."

There was a pause. "But somehow still in Charming," Tara said.

"Yeah, well." Olivia pulled the pizza out of the oven and slid it onto a plate. "Speaking of, how's Kohn been?"

"Quiet," Tara said. "Either he hasn't tracked me down yet or moving two thousand miles away finally got the message through."

"That's good," Olivia said. She curled up on the couch and flicked the TV on, but hit the mute button. "Fuck. Ow, that's hot."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just pizza mouth. Anyway, so. What about Jax?"

Olivia could hear papers shuffling in the background. "What about him?"

"Please, Tara. Don't do that."

"Okay," she said. "I'll tell you what's up with Jax if you tell me what's up with Opie?"

Olivia blinked. "Huh? Why what did he tell you? Nothing happened, not really. It's no big deal."

"Whoa, Ollie, calm down! Nobody told me anything, but clearly something did happen. So spill."

She sighed and took a sip of wine. "Honestly? I don't know. I haven't talked to him since the other night, which is…not the way things usually go. I'm worried he's freaking out over it."

"Uh huh. You still haven't told me anything. Just some weird message about Opie and the opening and…something about phone calls?"

Olivia fiddled with her pizza and gave Tara a brief recap of the past few weeks, her phone conversations with Opie, and what had happened last time they talked.

"Whoa. So, like. Phone sex?"

"Not exactly," Olivia said. "More like…" She shivered at the memory. "I don't even know. Phone…erotica? But even that's too strong a word, really."

"Holy shit," Tara said, giggling like a kid. "_Opie_?"

"I know! Trust me, I was pretty…well."

"Uh huh. So are you in love with him?"

Olivia almost choked on her pizza. "How'd we get from _that was sexy_ to _in love_ in less than two seconds?"

"Please, Ollie. You don't get this upset over a guy unless there are feelings. Like real actual _feelings_. Like with Juice, back in the day. Or more recently, for that matter."

"Let's not talk about Juice, okay?" Olivia said, frowning. "I'm trying to keep all of this separate from all of _that_."

"Hhhmm," Tara said. "Whatever you say, chief. Is Opie coming to the opening?"

"I don't know. I hope so. He said he'd try." She cleared her throat. "Now. About Jax."

"Oh my God," Tara said. "There's nothing to say, really. I ran into him again a few days ago, and it was fine, I guess. He's being less of an asshole, so that's something."

"I don't understand why these men get so upset that we decided to go on live our lives, and it just happened to not include them."

"Don't you know, silly girl? Our lives are supposed to _revolve_ around them."

"Ohhhh. I forgot. See? This is why you're the doctor and I just weld shit."

"Exactly. Shit, listen, I gotta go. I'm on call. I'll talk to you later this week, okay? You've gotta tell me everything about your dress and the gala and all of it."

"I will," she said. "Love you."

"Love you too, babe."

They hung up and Olivia set the phone aside with a thoughtful moue. She wanted to call Opie. She wanted to hear his voice and find out if he was freaking out about the other night…but she didn't. They needed space. A little time apart to digest everything that happened and maybe get a better handle on where they wanted to go from here.

If anywhere.

Maybe he just wanted to go back to before. Maybe she did too. Except…after the other night she couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to have his hands on her. His mouth. She bit her lip and slid a hand under her shirt and idly played with a nipple through the cup of her bra. She'd told him she wasn't interested in a hook up. She'd meant it.

Did she still? Because a hook up with Opie might be just the ticket: a quick, complications-free fuck just to see what it was like.

Except would it be complications-free? At all? Because right now every time she thought of Opie she felt the sort warm ache low in her belly that she hadn't really felt since…

Yeah, okay, since Juice. She'd lied to herself for _ages_ about her feelings for him, but she'd been a dumb kid back then. Surely she could handle having feelings for Opie, could get them sorted out and then decide what to do about them without having some sort of breakdown.

She just needed to see him. If he didn't come for the opening, fine. She could deal. But as soon as she got back to Charming she was tracking him down and they were going to have a Serious Talk.

First of all, how did he feel about piercings?

* * *

The day of the big gala had finally arrived, and Olivia had only talked Opie once, and then so briefly they'd barely had a chance to say _hi_ and _bye_. She didn't know if he were going to be there tonight or not, and she also still had no idea how he felt about their last real conversation.

She was nervous to begin with, but add to it the thought of seeing Opie tonight, or Ben, or Ben and Opie, wasn't helping.

It had been an incredibly long day at the gallery doing last minute prep, and she'd just gotten back from the loft after running out to change. She'd accidentally left her phone in Cary's office, so she went straight there to check it.

A missed call and a voicemail. From Juice.

She should wait. Listen to it after the party.

Except that would be _hours_, and she knew curiosity would probably kill her before then. She dropped down into the chair and dialed up her voicemail.

"Hey, Liv," the message began, and she couldn't smother a smile at the sound of his voice. "I got your invite, and thanks for that, but I know it's not really me you want there, so I thought I'd sit this one out."

A brief pause while he seemed to be sorting out what to say. "You're probably freakin' out, right? Yeah, I know you are. You don't trust things goin' right. I get that; I really do. But, Liv, listen. You remember that night we were at Piney's cabin and you told me your wish was to get your own show?

"You got it, kid. You're livin' it. And you fuckin' well _earned_ it. So relax. Enjoy. Take a deep breath and fix your pretty dress—I know it's a pretty dress, and I bet you look real good—and go out there to see all those people who came to look at _your_ stuff, babe. Just yours."

He took a deep breath. "I guess that's all I gotta say, and I don't wanna get cut off, so—I'll see you when you get home. Knock 'em dead, Olivia. I know you will."

The recording came on to ask what she wanted to do with the message, and she hit the button to replay it. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she threw her head back and dabbed at them. God she couldn't start crying _already_. She'd worked way too hard on her eye makeup.

When it finished its second play through she saved it and tucked her phone away. She stood up and smoothed her dress—it _was_ pretty: long sleeves, knee length, open back, black lace overlaying a shorter, fitted black sheath—before she took a deep, steady breath, just like he'd advised. She hadn't expected him to come, and it was sort of a relief to hear he wouldn't be there. She would've been glad to see him, on one level, but she already had enough to worry about keeping her dad and Ben apart without having to think about Juice, too.

There was a brief knock on the door and Brad poked his head again. "Lookin' good, gorgeous."

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "You, on the other hand, look harried. What's up?"

He snorted. "I don't point out _your_ flaws. But, well…there's a very large man at the door insisting he's a friend of yours."

"Large?" she said. "How large?"

Brad held a hand well above his head. "Beard. Hair. Ferocious looking."

"Oh," she said as her mouth softened into a smile. "I think he is a friend of mine."

"Cary's adamant: no one in until eight."

"It's ten till. I don't think it'll kill her."

She followed Brad across the gallery, her high shoes clicking smartly against the matte black floor, and when she saw him a helpless grin curved her lips. He caught sight of her through the glass separating them, and his glower turned immediately into a sort of stunned expression, like the glass were electrified and he'd been shocked.

After a moment he shook his head. _Wow_, he mouthed.

She laughed and pointed to her wrist, where a watch would be if she wore one. She held up both hands, fingers spread. _Ten minutes_.

He glared. She shrugged.

"I guess you _do_ know him," Brad said, sounding smug.

She'd forgotten he was there. Her blushed deepened and she shook her head. "He's a friend from back home. We've known each other since high school.

"A friend. Mmhhmm. Listen, sweetheart, you want my advice?"

"Not really."

"Good, because you clearly need to hear it." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Climb that boy like a tree. He has got the hottest lumberjack-in-the-city thing goin', and if you don't, I will."

"While he'd be polite about it, because he's not a Neanderthal, I'm almost certain he'd decline your offer," she said, her smile turning wry.

"Me too," he said with a regretful sigh. "Which means you've gotta do it for both of us.

"Olivia," one of the other assistants said from behind them. "Cary's looking for you. She wants to make sure you're with her to greet the VIPs."

"Sure," she said. "On my way." She shot Brad a look, and he returned it with an insouciant shrug.

"Trust me, sugar. I've never seen anyone need to get laid as bad as you right about now, and that boy is a fine candidate for the job."

"Let's just focus on work right now, okay? My sex life is not really something I'm thinking about."

"That's abundantly apparent," he muttered as he fell in step behind her.

After that time seemed to fly. The doors opened and the crowd poured in, bigwigs first, and Olivia was caught up in greeting and schmoozing and toasting, and she had no idea how long it was before she finally spun away and nearly crashed right into him.

"Oh!" she said to his chest. He caught her elbows and she looked up—way up—and the dimple in her chin flashed. She was momentarily overcome, and when she opened her mouth no sound came out. She swallowed, took a sip of champagne, and tried again. "You came."

He'd had time to process seeing her, both through the window and then later as he caught sight of her again and again across the room, so he managed to keep it together and not come off like the stuttering idiot he'd felt like after that first glimpse.

"Of course I came," he said, his own smile easy and warm. "You think I'd let you down?"

"No, Ope." Her cheeks felt hot and she tried to write it off as the alcohol, but that was bullshit. She had a feeling he knew it, too. "I know you wouldn't," she finally said.

She took a step back so she could get a better look at him. He wore black on black: black suit, black shirt, thin black tie. He'd trimmed his beard since the last time she saw him, and his hair was pulled back in a bun at the curve of his skull.

"Wow," she said. "You clean up good, Winston."

"I could say the same thing about you, Gable. Or should I call you _Jameson_?"

"Ah, yeah. _Olivia Jameson_ is my professional name. Just…because. I don't know." He smelled incredible, not at all like biker Opie, and it was subtle and distracting and full, complete thoughts were a little difficult.

"Nah, I get it. You don't want everybody all in your business. That's you." He squeezed her arm before he let go, and in that moment time seemed to stop. Their eyes met and the bustling party around them disappeared. If he tried to kiss her right now, she'd let him. Her lips parted in invitation, and their velvety red color beckoned him like a siren.

But it wasn't right. Not here, with all these people watching them like they wanted to carve out a piece. He could feel their eyes like little hooks, and the way her eyes suddenly darted to either side told him she did, too.

Instead he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and skimmed his thumb over her cheek. "You're beautiful, Olivia."

She must be absolutely _glowing_ by now, as red as she'd ever been, and for lack of anything else she grabbed another glass of wine from a passing waiter. "Thanks," she said when she managed to find her voice. "You're not so bad yourself."

He grinned and decided a change of subject might be in order. "Hey, I saw your dad a little bit ago. He was looking for you." His head tilted. "Who was the blonde on his arm?"

Safer territory. Good. "His new wife. Well, new-ish. They've been married almost five years now. Her name's Belinda."

"Evil stepmom?" He offered her his arm and she wove hers through it.

"No," she said, "Belinda's cool. I like her, and, more importantly, she makes him happy. That's what matters."

"Olivia!"

She went still and glanced up at him. "Gird your loins," she said under her breath.

"Cary!" she said, pasting on a huge smile as she pivoted.

"Darling, _who_ is your _friend_?"

She cleared her throat and pulled her hand from Opie's arm. "Cary, this is Opie Winston. He's a friend of mine from back home. Opie, this is Cary Sparrow. She owns the gallery."

"Oh," Opie said. "I guess I should thank you for showin' Ollie's stuff then. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sparrow."

"It's _Ms._, sweetheart, but call me _Cary_. And the pleasure is _all_ mine."

Olivia knew she wasn't talking about the art, and she tried to smother a smile.

"Is this how they grow them in Charming, Olivia? _Clearly_ you've been holding out on us!" She caught Opie's arm and waved a hand at Olivia. "Go mingle, darling. I'll entertain your guest."

Opie shot her a panicked look, but she just gave him a mild blink in return. "Sure, Cary," she said. "Don't let him drink too much, though. It just goes _straight_ to his head."

His expression morphed into _I'm gonna kill you so goddamn hard_, and Olivia tried not to giggle as Cary dragged him away.

Olivia checked in on him periodically; he was taller than nearly everyone in the room and easy to spot over the two hundred dollar haircuts. He didn't look happy, but she didn't think he was going to chew his arm off, so she left him to it. She said hello to her dad and Belinda, chatted awhile, until her agent swept her off to greet some more walking dollar signs.

She'd grabbed a fresh glass of wine and a canapé when she saw him. Ben. She almost choked, but somehow managed to recover as he approached her.

"Olivia," he said, his smile warm.

"Ben," she replied, and she was happy to note her voice was steady. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Miss this? Are you kidding? This's what you've been working for since I first gave you that blowtorch." He hesitated. "Can I hug you?"

"Sure," she said. "Of course you can."

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, his touch gentle, and Olivia returned the hug carefully. "I'm so proud of you, Ollie," he said as they embraced. "You've worked so hard for this."

Across the room Opie had tuned out the conversation going on around him while he did a quick crowd scan. He spotted her quickly—she was small, but her bright hair stood out—and his eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me," he muttered. He set his half-empty glass on a passing waiter's tray and plowed his way through the crowd. People got out of his way quickly, scattering both from his size and the glower he wore, and he got to her just as Ben let go and took a step back.

Olivia cast a glance over her shoulder at the feel of his palm warm on her back. "Ben, you remember Opie Winston. He's our Charming delegation tonight."

"Of course," Ben said. He held out a hand. "Good to see you, Opie. I'm glad you could make it."

Opie shook it and squeezed a little harder than necessary. Ben blanched, and it was clear the message had gotten through. "I'm sure Olivia's glad you could, too," he said.

She shot Opie a brief glare before turning a smile on Ben. "You look great. You're doing well?"

"I am, yeah. Portland's still—Portland. Not quite the same since you left, but still humming along."

Olivia made a small noise of agreement. "And Amy? How's she?"

Opie cut his eyes at her. He recognized the too-bright tone in her voice, but Ben seemed oblivious.

"She's—she's really good, Ollie. We got married last summer."

"I know," she said. "I heard. Congratulations, Ben. Really."

He smiled, big and wide, and ducked his head. "We're actually…we're pregnant."

She went tense beneath Opie's hand, and he rubbed his thumb against her skin in a soothing circle. She relaxed just a fraction, but even Ben could hear the slight edge when she spoke again.

"That's wonderful," she said. "When's she due?"

"May. That's one of the reasons she didn't come. Such a long flight this late—" He broke off with a shrug. "Otherwise she would've loved to've been here."

"I'm sure," Olivia said. "Every new wife loves to attend events celebrating the old one."

His brow creased. "Ollie—"

"I'm sorry. That came out snippier than I meant. It's good to see you, Ben, really, but I should—"

"Schmooze," he said. "Yeah, I know how these things are." He started to lean in, as though to kiss her cheek, but his eyes darted to Opie's face and he seemed to change his mind. "Maybe I'll run into you again before the night's over. Opie, take care."

"You too," he said.

There was an awkward moment while they all just stood there, but finally Ben nodded, smiled again, and walked away. Olivia spun toward the wall and pretended to study the painting there, and Opie hovered behind her keeping any would-be well-wishers away.

"Oll, what's wrong?" he said. "Don't let him upset you. This's your night."

"He didn't upset me," she said, but her voice sounded tight and breathless.

"Somethin' did."

"I can't—I'm sorry." She took a long breath and let it out slow. "I can't talk about it here. Later, okay?" She turned back toward him and rested a hand on his arm. "We'll talk after."

"Sure," he said. "Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Opie. I mean it." Their eyes met, and hers were big and dark. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Olivia. There's no where else I would be tonight. You gotta know that." He paused, acutely aware they were in public. "You know that, right?" he said, quietly.

Color brushed her cheeks, and her lips curved just a little. "I do. And I'm glad."

"Good," he said. He rested his hand against her back again. "Let's go enjoy the rest of your party, babe. This time you're not abandonin' me to the vultures."

It made her laugh, as he'd hoped. "One little Manhattan socialite and badass biker man's shakin' in his boots."

"Not exactly my scene. S'why I need you to protect me."

"Mmhhmm," she said. "No worries, sugar. I'll keep you safe."

He grinned down at her. "I know you will, Oll. You always do."

* * *

_Didn't wanna add any more clutter to the top, so I'll say it down here: thanks for such an enthusiastic response to this one, guys. :)_


	16. I and Love and You

Thanks for the comments on the last chapter, guys. :) I hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

**three words that became hard to say**  
**i and love and you**  
**what you were then, i am today**  
**look at the things i do**  
The Avett Brothers, "I and Love and You"

Olivia hurried to answer the knock at the door and smiled when she glanced through the peephole. "Hey," she said.

He stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet and gripping his duffle. "Are you sure about this? I don't wanna impose."

"Ope, come on. It's no imposition."

She moved aside so he could go past her and locked the door behind him. He paused a moment to get a look around: it was a true loft, with concrete floors, exposed brick, and a twenty foot ceiling. An industrial-looking staircase led up to an open bedroom area, and there were three doors: one to the hall, one to the terrace, and one that must lead to the bathroom.

"This place doesn't look like you at all," he said with a faint smile.

"Hhmm. Well. The price was right." At his questioning look she lifted a hand. "The gallery keeps a couple of these for its artists-in-residence. This one was empty, so I got it for free. Otherwise I'd probably be begging my agent to let me sleep in her guest room."

She took his duffle and set it by the couch, which was pulled out and made up. "Clean sheets," she said. "I figured someone would be crashing on my hide-a-bed this weekend, so I washed them the other day."

"Thanks, Oll. I mean it."

"Stop acting like a stranger, Opie. I couldn't let you come all the way to New York and stay in a hotel." She paused. "Um, oh, I'm making macaroni and cheese. If you're hungry."

As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud rumble. He pressed a hand against it and Olivia muffled a giggle. "I guess that's a _yes_."

"Mac and cheese, huh?" he said, grinning. "With hot dogs cut up in it?"

"Do I look like a savage to you? Of course with hot dogs cut up in it."

His smile deepened. "You know what I like."

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and something in her expression made him go red around the ears. "I try" was all she said, but her voice was low and shivery, and it was enough.

He ached to grab her around the waist and pull her against him. She'd taken off her shoes, but she still wore the black lace dress that made her skin look like alabaster and her freckles glow like sparks. She'd cut her hair again, back to chin length, and it was curled and tousled around her head like a bright corona.

"Did I mention you looked really good tonight?" he said, all in a rush.

She grinned, the dimple in her chin winking. "Maybe. Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it again." She reached up to brush a bit of dust from his shirt. "You look good, too. In case _I_ didn't mention it."

"Nah," he said, "you did. But you can say it again."

"You look good," she said, and he laughed.

"Wipe the drool, Gable. I'm not a piece of meat."

"Sorry," she said. "I'm just not used to seeing you in anything other than a sweaty t-shirt and wallet chain, so I'm savoring the moment."

Something in the kitchen beeped, and she peeked around him. "Water's boiling."

"Go check it. Can I use your shower?"

"Yep. That door over there. There're clean towels in the cabinet by the sink."

"Thanks." He scowled and loosened his tie. "I smell like champagne and plastic surgery," he said.

"You big baby," she said over her shoulder. "It wasn't that bad."

"That's easy for you to say. I think I got my ass grabbed about ten times in the first hour."

"Well." Her head tilted in an easy shrug. "It's a nice ass."

He busied himself digging through his bag for some clothes and his toiletry kit, but it was mostly to avoid looking at her. He wasn't sure what he'd see in her face, and he suddenly felt like a nervous, bumbling kid. "Yeah? Why don't you grab it then?"

"Maybe later," she said. "Right now I'm hungry and you need of a shower."

"Right," he said, drawing the syllable out. "I'll make it quick."

"Do that," she said.

He shot a glance back at her, but she was paying attention to the pot on the stove and not looking at him at all. He'd thought she—no. He had to stop thinking about her like that. The other night on the phone had been…well, he wasn't sure what, exactly, besides maybe crazy. A crazy thing to do, and they'd barely spoken since.

He'd fucked up. Moved too fast and scared her off. Or maybe she wasn't interested in him like that at all. Good ol' Ope, high school ex and best buddy.

The water tap was tricky, but he finally got the temperature he wanted and stepped underneath. One advantage of being so tall: if he didn't want to get his hair wet, it was pretty easy to avoid it. He grabbed her girl-scented soap (paused a moment to take a deep breath because it reminded him so much of her skin) before he put it aside in favor of his own.

Maybe he should jerk off. Just so he wasn't so tense when he got back out there.

Except he was in Olivia's shower and that seemed skeevy at best, downright disgusting at worst. In the end he just rinsed and shut the water off. Climbed out and grabbed a towel from the cabinet.

He didn't buy it, though; her disinterest. He hadn't imagined her face when she first saw him at the gala, or the moment later when he could've sworn she wanted him to kiss her. And there was her reaction the other night…the sound of her breath and those soft sighs…

"Stop thinking about it, Winston," he told his reflection.

"Ope?" she called. "Food's ready."

"Yep," he said. "On my way."

Olivia glanced up from her spot at the kitchen island and did a double take. He still had his hair in the bun from earlier, and he'd put on a pair of sweat pants that were so low she…

"Put a shirt on, Harry," she muttered.

"I'm gettin' one. Why? Don't like the view?"

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and let her eyes roam slowly from his feet all the way up to his face. She made sure to linger in a few places: between his thighs. The reaper tattoos on either hip. The anarchy ink that circled his collarbones. He blushed and turned away, and she tried not to notice the dimples just above his ass, or the way the muscles rippled under the sprawling reaper back piece.

"It's a fantastic view," she said. "But around here we dress for dinner."

"That's right," he said. "This is a fine dining establishment."

"You better believe it, buddy." She handed him a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese with hot dogs and he grinned at her. "We even provide entertainment to go along with your meal." She waved the TV remote at him and jumped out of the way when he tried to snatch it from her.

"Behave or we're watching _Casablanca_ again."

"Oh God," he said. He liked _Casablanca_, but she'd made him watch it three times since she moved back to Charming. "I'll be good. I promise."

They settled down on the sofa bed, him propped in the middle and her curled in the corner. She turned the TV on and flipped until she got to an old _Twilight Zone_ episode.

"Oh, I've seen this one," he said. "The aliens—"

"Hush! I haven't."

"Sorry," he said.

They ate in silence until the big reveal: the robotic aliens the old lady had been fighting were from a ship sent by the USA.

"Hhmm," Olivia said. "Our reputation for violent colonization and the destruction of indigenous peoples must be universal."

"Mary Sunshine over here."

"It's _The Twilight Zone_, Ope. It's not exactly an optimistic show."

"True," he said. "Science fiction usually mirrors society's biggest hopes and fears at the time. So, you know, McCarthyism, the Cold War…"

She grinned. "Smarty pants."

"Yup," he said. He took her bowl and finished off the last several bites of food, then set both of them on the table near his elbow. The one with William Shatner was starting, so he didn't turn it off, just lowered the volume a bit.

"So," he said.

She cut him a look. "What's on your mind?"

"I was wondering about earlier. At the party? With Ben?"

"Ahhh," she said. She ducked her head to hide a grimace. "Let me go run change real fast, okay? It'll be easier to talk about this if I'm a little more comfortable."

"Sure," he said.

She grabbed the bowls and dropped them in the sink on the way, and he glanced up when the light came on in the bedroom loft.

"Do you have a closet?" he called.

"Not exactly. More like a bar and a bunch of drawers."

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah, it's—shit."

"What? You okay?"

"Yeah, just couldn't get the zipper."

His entire body went hot. Was she going to ask him to unzip her? He could do that. It was just a zipper.

"I got it, though."

"Ohh," he said on a breath. Then, loud enough for her to hear, "Good. I'd hate to have to come rescue you from a dress mishap."

She stuck her head over the railing, and he could tell she was laughing at him. "In your dreams, Winston," she said.

He thought it was safer to keep his mouth shut, and for a few minutes he tried to pay attention to the show. She reappeared and handed him a beer before curling up in the corner again, dressed now in a t-shirt and shorts so brief they were practically underwear. He did his best to keep his eyes off her legs, but it was a losing battle. It always had been; she'd had great legs since they were kids, even though he knew she hated the scars on her thigh.

"It's kind of dumb," she said, and it took him a moment to catch up.

His face scrunched. "Whatever it was, it upset you. It's not dumb. Just tell me about it."

She sighed and shifted so that she could pull the covers up to her waist. "He and Amy got married last summer."

"Amy's the woman he—" He broke off, and her mouth quirked.

"Had an affair with. Left me for. Yeah, she's the one." She waved a hand. "I'm not worried about that part. I'm glad he's happy." A brief pause. "I mean that," she said, thoughtfully. "He deserves to be happy.

Opie made a low noise. "So do you, Ollie."

"I know," she said. "And I'm working on it. It's a process."

"Um hum."

She swiped the beer from him and took a sip before she handed it back. "Did you and Donna want kids?"

He blinked. Oh. Of course. Ben's new wife was pregnant.

"We talked about it," he said, "but she didn't want kids raised in the life. Which I get." He looked away and pretended to watch TV. "I think it's another reason why we split. After I did those five years she realized the MC thing wasn't temporary. I guess before that she always hoped it was just a phase or somethin'. You know, that I'd get it out of my system."

"Grow up and move on?" she said, quietly.

"Yeah." His shoulders rippled. "Somethin' like that."

She had scooted across the bed toward him, and now she sat with her legs crossed, facing him, and her knees nearly touched his thighs. "Ben and I wanted kids. Or, at least—Ben did. And I did, too, but more…"

"To make him happy?" he said when she trailed off.

She bunched a bit of sheet between her fingers and then smoothed it across her leg. "Sort of. But also because…I knew I didn't love him the way he loved me, and I thought if we had a kid…we could both love it. You know, completely. And it would love us and we'd both stop feeling so—kind of—incomplete? Together."

He laced his fingers through hers to still them, and when she looked up at him her expression tore at his heart. "I guess it's better," she said. "That's too much pressure to put on a kid. You should either…like, you should either be apart, or be _totally_ together. Not halfway. Not partly and expecting a child to fill those cracks."

"So you changed your minds? That's why you didn't—?" He broke off with a gesture, and she shook her head.

"Not exactly. We tried. Basically up until…the last year, I guess?"

"You never got pregnant?"

She drew in a long breath and let it out. "I did. Twice."

"Oh," he said. He squeezed her hand and rubbed his thumb in a circle against the back of it. "What happened?"

"The first time—who knows. Just one of those things. It was, you know." She held up her fingers. "Tiny."

"The second one?" he said, almost afraid to ask.

"Um." She tugged her hand away and ran it back through her hair. "Car wreck. Twenty-two weeks, so too little to…" Her mouth curved and he brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek to wipe away the tear that fell. "It was a boy."

"Jesus, Oll," he said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Her hands fisted in his shirt and he ran his palm over the curve of her skull and down the line of her back. "I can't believe he said it like that, so offhand. Like no big deal."

He was so warm and solid, and his scent was so familiar, that for a moment she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feel of his arms around her and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

"It's his new life," she said. "His new family. A chance to start over. Of course he's happy, and he probably just wasn't thinking. He _really_ wanted kids. It was like—the ultimate thing for him. He's just excited and telling everyone. Like people do."

"Still. I'm sorry. That's a shitty thing to have to think about any time, much less a night like tonight."

"I'm—okay about it, mostly. It was hard, and awful, but I got through it." He could hear the bitterness in her voice when she spoke again. "I land on my feet, remember?"

"Hey." He cupped her face and tilted her head back so that their eyes met. "When I say that, I don't mean you're cold, or you don't feel. You just—you get on with shit. Because you gotta. It's a good thing, Ollie."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Come on. You know it is. _Tough_ don't mean _frozen_."

"Mmm," she said. Then, with a smile, "I think everyone needs an Opie Winston in their life."

He made a face, and she laughed. "I mean it. You can lift heavy things and scare almost anyone off just with a look, and you're…"

"I'm what?" he said, sensing that whatever she'd been about to say wasn't nearly as much a joke as the first part.

She gave his beard a tug, then carded her fingers through it. "You're Opie," she said, her voice soft.

"Good ol' Opie?" He darted a quick look at her full mouth then away again.

Somehow her hand had drifted around the back of his neck, and when she pulled him closer he didn't resist. "Opie," she said. "_My_ Opie. Don't ever underestimate what you mean to me."

Their noses brushed and her lips parted on a silent gasp. He could feel her breath against his skin, fluttering through his beard. Her eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed, and his palm pressed into the small of her back to bring her nearly into his lap.

"Olivia," he murmured.

"Did you miss me, Opie?" she said, searching his face with a worried line between her brows.

"I told you a thousand times I missed you," he said, soothing it with a fingertip.

"Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it again," she said.

"Uh huh. Greedy."

"Yep."

She wiggled around until she _was_ in his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, and he was acutely aware of how little clothing they each had on. He shifted, but that only made things worse. "Ollie—"

"Did you mean those things you said the other night?" she said in a rush.

"Um." Frowning, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Um…on the phone, you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course on the phone."

His face twisted as he considered. "I don't know, Oll. We talked on the phone a lot, and I said a bunch of stuff. What _things_ you talkin' about?"

Her mouth fell open, then curved in a wry grin. "Well," she said, "there was the whole thing about my skin. How it would look in the candlelight. If the skin with freckles tastes different than the skin without. Also there was a bit about how it would feel beneath your hands." She trailed her fingers down his arm. "Your lips." She tickled the side of his neck. "Your tongue."

"Okay!" he said, catching her hand in his. "Yeah, okay, I remember."

"There was a whole lot more. Questions about where I'm ticklish and how—"

"Ollie, Jesus," he breathed.

"So did you mean it?" she said, and beneath her steady gaze he could sense a pulse of vulnerability. She genuinely wondered. She really didn't know.

His hands fell to rest on her hips and he kneaded the soft curve of them. "Yes, Olivia. Yeah, Jesus Christ, I meant every fuckin' word."

Her composure cracked a little at that, and he wasn't sure why. "Good," she said, her voice gone thick. "Because I meant it too. I mean, I didn't _say_ much, but—" She blushed. "I meant it."

"It sounded like you did, but it's good to know anyway."

Chewing her lower lip, she looked away. Back, her expression wary. "We could do some of those things. If you wanted."

"I do," he said, quickly. He flushed and cleared his throat. "I mean—I _really_ do, Oll. Like, as bad as I've ever wanted anything. But…you know that's not why I'm here, right? I didn't come here for that."

"Oh," she said. "No, I mean—of course you didn't." She tried to laugh, but it fell flat, and he caught her chin with his hand.

"Listen to me a sec. I came here for _you_, Olivia. For your big night. I didn't come here for sex, and I'd never expect…anything like that."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she gave a sharp jerk of her head. "I don't think I can give you what you want, Opie."

"What do you think I want?" he said, gently.

Her mouth trembled. "A—a relationship. A girlfriend. Someone like Donna."

He sighed. "I've known you practically our whole lives, Olivia. Somethin' like…twenty-six? Twenty-seven? years…and you think I don't know you? You think I want the same with you that Donna and me had?"

"That's right," she said. Her voice was tight as she tried not to cry. "I'm Ollie Gable. _Different_. The girl who doesn't get in too deep. For a good time call."

"Goddammit, Ollie," he said on a growl. "You fucking well know that's not what I meant."

"So tell me, Opie! Tell me what you mean! I can't guess wrong here, because if I do I'll fuck it all up and _God_ that's the last thing I want. You _matter_ to me. I can't—if I guess and I'm wrong and I end up losing you, I'll never forgive myself. Do you get that?"

"You're never gonna lose me. No matter what happens. Do _you_ get _that_?"

"How is that even possible? I thought I'd never lose Juice, and now look at us."

"I'm not Juice!" he said. He slid her off his lap to sit beside him because he absolutely could not have this conversation while she was on top of him. Then, quieter but no less intense, "I'm not Juice and we're not fifteen or seventeen or twenty-two. We're almost thirty, Olivia, and we've both been through failed marriages and shit times and fucking _life_. We're not kids anymore, and I think we're adults enough to—to fuck up and not let it rip us apart."

"Tell me," she said again.

"I love you," he responded, so fast she thought she'd misheard him. She blinked and he twisted to face her and grabbed her arms before she could get away. "I love you, Olivia. I'm _in_ love with you. You're the last thought in my head before I fall asleep and the first thought when I wake up, before I even open my eyes. My day's not complete until I hear your voice and make you laugh, and I gotta say—this last week's been _hell_, babe. Fuckin' awful."

He drew in a deep breath. "I love you, and I get you can't say it back, and I get it scares the shit outta you, but…you said to tell you. I don't want a hookup or a quick fuck. I want _you_. With me. I want _us_, Olivia."

She was stunned silent, and the tears she'd been holding beck fell unchecked down her face. She had no idea what to say, but she knew she couldn't have this conversation with his hands on her, and when she pulled away he let her go.

"That's—a lot, Ope."

He gave a rueful snort and tugged at his beard. "You can't be _that_ surprised."

"I don't know," she said. "After what I did to Juice, and the way things fell out with Ben…I would've thought it might make you hesitant."

His back hunched as he faced forward again and rested his elbows on his knees. He studied the clean lines of her profile for a long time before he spoke again. "You don't love me, okay. I can—I can live with that."

"Can you? I married a man who loved me, who I didn't love back. Trust me: it's no picnic."

"I'm not askin' you to marry me, Oll."

"I know," she said. Her chin tilted his way. "What exactly are you asking for?"

"I—" He made a low, irritated noise. "Nothin', Olivia. I ain't askin' for anything. That's the _point_. I love you. I'm _givin'_ you that. You don't gotta pay for it."

"You said you want us," she said, her voice so soft he almost couldn't hear her.

"I do. But if you don't, okay. I ain't gonna—I'm not _pinin'_ here, Olivia. We're adults. I want one thing and you want somethin' else, and I think we can still be what we were before with that between us."

She swallowed hard and her head dipped. "What if I do?"

"What?" he said.

She shook her hair back as she glared at him. "What if I _do_ want you? What if I want all those same things, Opie? You and me and us and _all_ of it!"

"Well that's great, Oll," he said, reaching for her. "That's…" He let his hands fall and the worry line appeared between his brows. She looked miserable. "That's…not great?"

"I don't know how," she said. She made a helpless gesture. "I don't know how to do all that. How to—how to…love you and let you love me and just…be. Together."

He had to fight the urge to laugh, because that was just so goddamn _Olivia_. She had to make everything so complicated and had to think so fucking hard all the time. It was part of why he loved her, but he needed her to understand not everything was a riddle she had to solve.

"So…maybe we figure it out together," he said. Her eyes went wide and he held up a hand. "Not now. Not tonight. Maybe, uh…maybe when you get back to Charming? We could just…see. See how things go. See what happens."

Olivia rubbed a hand over her face. Could they do that? Just…see? She had no idea. She could tell that, despite the brave face he put on it, he wasn't sure either. The silence stretched and lengthened, but despite the tension between them it never turned awkward.

Opie. Her Opie. She owed it to both of them to at least try, as scary as the idea was. Maybe it was scarier to…not. To tell him _no_ and try to move on and forget they'd had this conversation.

She took a deep breath and swallowed around the lump in her throat. "We could date," she said with a sardonic little smile.

He picked up on her change in mood: she meant it, but it was easier for her to make it light. He could do that. "Yeah, right. I could take you out to dinner and a movie."

"Try to cop a feel with that yawn trick. You used to love that shit."

"Jesus," he said. "I'm not fifteen anymore, Oll."

"Mmhhmm. Still."

He grinned. "Yeah. Probably. Then we could go for ice cream."

"With extra hot fudge."

"And afterwords maybe go necking at the lookout."

"Who says _necking_, Opie?"

"I dunno," he said with an easy shrug. "Somebody."

She laughed, bright and sparkling, and without thinking he pulled her against him. "Oh!" she said, a surprised breath, and he stopped just short of kissing her.

"I know you, Ollie. I'm not askin' for anything you can't give. I just wanna make you happy, baby, and be there for you when you're not." He brushed his mouth over hers, soft and sweet, and then let her go. "Just think about it, okay? That's all you gotta do."

Her shirt had rucked up above her belly button, and she yanked it back into place. "Trust me," she said with a shaky sigh. "I won't be thinking about much else for a while." She reached for the remote to turn the TV off, and a glance at the clock above it had her frowning. "We should probably get some sleep."

"Not a bad idea," he said.

Her eyes darted to his face and away again. "I don't want to have sex with you, Ope."

"Um."

"I mean! Oh God." Her forehead dropped to land on the heel of her hand. "I mean, I _do_. I—absolutely do. But I don't think…we should. Right now."

"Oh," he said, relieved. "Okay. That's—I agree. That's smart."

She blew out a long breath. "So if I invite you upstairs with me, you know it's not for sex." She eyed him. "Right?"

"Are you inviting me upstairs with you?"

"This couch is shit. You'll wake up with a backache and be grumpy all day." She paused and bit her lip. "The bed's really big. A king size."

His mouth quirked. "I think I can handle sharing a bed without mauling you."

"Don't be an ass." She watched him with big, solemn eyes as she slid off the hide-a-bed. Held out her hand to him, palm up, and managed a tremulous smile.

He slid his fingers against hers, entangled them, and squeezed.

It was all she needed, and neither of them spoke again as she led him upstairs.

* * *

_Soooo there are probably a lot of you here for Juice/Olivia, which duh. I get. They're my otp, after all. :) You might be thinking this Opie/Olivia stuff is a waste of time, but it's not. I promise._


	17. Lost

Thanks for reading, guys, and for all your lovely feedback. :)

* * *

**daylight sings all that morning air brings**  
**and i'm lost  
i'm lost ****inside you**  
Matt Wertz, "Red Meets Blue"

It was the smell of coffee that woke her.

For a few seconds she was confused. Wasn't she in New York? Who the hell would be making—? Then she caught his scent on the pillow next to her and she felt a wave of warmth.

Opie.

He was here. Making coffee. And, from the smell of things, breakfast. She rolled out of bed and stuck her head over the rail. "Whatcha doin', Winston?"

He looked up from the stove and grinned. "Waitin' on you, Gable. Get down here. I'm starvin'."

"On my way, bossy pants." She ran a brush through her hair and skipped down the steps. Made a quick pitstop at the bathroom, and by the time she got to the kitchen he was pouring hot water into a mug for tea.

"Thanks," she said as he handed it to her.

"Welcome," he said.

She boosted herself up onto the island and set the tea aside to steep. "Sleep all right?" she said.

"Yup. You?"

"Mmhhmm. Maybe the best since I've been here."

"Huh. That's weird. Somethin' different?"

"I don't know," she said.

He slid an omelet onto a plate and turned toward her. Stepped between her knees and dipped his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers. Her breath caught and she felt a hot stir low in her belly that had nothing to do with tea. Their eyes met. Held. Hers were round, nearly all pupil, and his cooly took her measure even as color bloomed across his cheeks.

"You figure it out, lemma know," he said, his voice rough.

"I will," she murmured.

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and turned away, whistling, and her mouth fell open as she stared at his back. Her lips twisted in a smirk. Well. Opie Winston.

Who would've guessed?

She picked up her plate and took a bite of omelet, and after a few moments he joined her, slumping against the island next to her and devouring his food like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"I guess you weren't kidding about being hungry," she said.

"This's my second one," he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and cheese.

"Of course it is," she said. "How many eggs are in this?"

"Four."

She blinked at him. "You used an entire carton of eggs to make three omelets?"

He shrugged. "I don't like to do things halfway."

He finished his and cast her plate a hopeful glance. "Here," she said, and he grinned at her like an excited kid. "So what do you want to do today?" she said as he ate.

"Well…" He washed the last bite down with a long gulp of orange juice and set everything in the sink. "I was kinda hopin' you could show me the city."

"The tourist bit? The Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center?"

"I guess, if you want, but I was thinkin' more like…" He shrugged a little and leaned against the island again. "The places you like. Where do you go? Where do you eat? I wanna see all your favorite spots." He ducked his head, embarrassed, and let his shoulders rise and fall again. "That's more the stuff I'm interested in seein', I guess," he mumbled.

She took a sip of tea to cover her surprise and tried to smother a grin. Cute motherfucker. "You know this'll involve at least one art museum. And probably a library."

"Yeah. I figured. I think I can handle it."

Abruptly, as though coming to a decision she didn't want to change her mind about, she set her mug on the counter and twisted around to grab his face between her palms. His eyes went wide, but before he could say anything she kissed him, hot and quick.

"What was that?" he said with a stunned blink.

"A kiss, silly. Don't you recognize a kiss when one smacks you across the mouth?"

A hush fell. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair and their faces stilled. He grasped her hips to pull her closer. She let out a quiet breath. Their eyes met and the silence swelled between them like a living thing.

"Opie," she said, her voice soft.

He grinned. Carded both hands through her hair. Caught her mouth with his and let out a gentle sigh as they came together.

The kiss was long and languid and sweet, like the slow melt of fine chocolate, and when her mouth parted under his their tongues brushed in a velvety, heated glide that made them both moan. He nibbled her lower lip. Sucked. She brought him back for more and his palms skimmed the lines and curves of her back while her fingers curled in his t-shirt.

It became heated, a deep, aching burn, and they both knew they had to stop before they couldn't. His grip tightened in her hair and he tugged her head back to nip at the pulse pounding in her throat, and as his name fell from her lips on a hot gasp, he let go and stepped away.

She slumped forward, bracing her hands on the counter, and he turned around to lean against the fridge. He hauled in gulps of air and scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Holy shit," he said in a strained croak.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Seconded."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Hey, whoa, my lips were there too. And I started it."

She slid off the island and caught herself when her legs wobbled. Her mouth tingled and she could feel the rasp of his bear against her cheeks. She brushed at it, trying to erase the sensation, but she knew it was no use.

"I think, um—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "I think I'm gonna hit the shower. Then we'll go. If you still want to."

"Of course." He spun to face her. "Yeah, of course I do. Don't you?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand as she went by him. "It was just a kiss, Ope. A good as hell kiss, but still just a kiss."

"Huh," he said. "Is it always like that when you kiss somebody?"

She stopped halfway to the bathroom and cast him a look. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Just checkin'," he said with a smirk.

She shot him the bird, and his laugh followed her all the way to the shower.

* * *

She did take him to a couple of tourist spots: the Alice statue in the park. The Brooklyn Bridge. MOMA to see _Starry Night_. But mostly it was things like a tiny coffee shop in Little Italy for cups of bitter espresso and homemade cannoli. A restaurant in China Town where she didn't even bother ordering off the menu; she told Opie Brad had brought her here every day for a week until she had the order memorized before he'd allow her to go on her own.

At some point she'd grabbed his hand as they walked, and despite the height difference they fell into step alongside each other, their fingers laced together, and Opie thought maybe, except for the day he married Donna, he'd never been happier in his life.

There was a ridiculous record store in Alphabet City and a graffitied hamburger joint (with awesome milkshakes) off the lobby of a swank hotel. In the Village, a place where everything they sold was made out of condoms, and a brief stop at Tiffany's to recreate an iconic moment from one of her favorite movies. Finally they sat in the rush line for _Rent_ tickets, and when their names weren't called they caught the train back to her loft, footsore and happy.

He hovered over her in the train car, his eyes focused on a small constellation of freckles at the back of her neck. All he wanted to do was get his hands on her. On her skin and in her hair and tracing every curve and line of her.

She must've felt the same way, because they were barely in the door before she was dragging him down for a kiss. His arms went around her waist to boost her up and she had one hand fisted in his hair and the other curled in his shirt. Her lips parted under his and they swallowed each other's moans as their tongues brushed.

"We should—" She couldn't stop kissing him long enough to get the sentence out, so for a long time he had no idea what she thought they should do. Finally, breathless and flushed and wide-eyed, she pulled back and grinned at him. "We should order pizza and make out all night."

"That's your plan?" he said, laughing a little.

He let her go so that she could slide to the floor. "I told you I don't put out on the first date. Remember?"

He grinned. "Oh yeah, that's right. And I guess today was technically a date."

"We bought each other a lot of food."

"Wait, so. Does each time we bought food count as a date, or was it just one long one?"

"Hhmm." Her head tilted as she considered. "If we just count it as one, then I'm not puttin' out. If we count each time…then I don't know. You might get lucky."

His smile faded as he studied her face, and he brought his hand up to cup her jaw. His thumb rubbed over her swollen lips. "I'm not expectin' anything, Olivia. And I think—I think maybe we should wait."

Her expression clouded. She looked away; cleared her throat and brushed her hair back from her face. "You do want me though. Right?"

He almost laughed, but she sounded so…unsure. Vulnerable and sad and— "Olivia. Ollie, look at me."

She did, finally, and he saw the fear in her eyes. He sighed and bent to press a soft kiss on her full mouth. "I want you so bad I can't see straight, babe. I told you already: I meant everything I said on the phone that night." He tugged a lock of her hair. "I think I might mean it even more now."

She took a deep breath. "But?"

"But…" The thoughtful line appeared between his brows. "_But_ I don't think we should fall into bed so fast. Wantin' is easy, Oll. Sex is easy. You know I want more than that with you. I'm not sure I wanna go there until…"

"Until what? I make up my mind?"

He ducked his head and combed his fingers through his beard. "Not exactly. More like—until…you got a better idea of what you want. I told you you don't owe me anything and I don't expect anything from you, and I meant that."

"You think I'd be sleeping with you out of a sense of obligation?" she said, her tone wary.

"Uh." He'd somehow wandered into a minefield. Time to reset a little. He took her hand and led her to the couch before he tugged her down to sit next to him.

"You don't do anything you don't wanna do, Oll. I know that. But I also know—" He hesitated; what he had to say next was tricky, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"You sometimes think sex is, I don't know. Like…a substitute…for the other parts of a relationship. Like if you're…"

"Fucking," she supplied when he trailed off.

"Fuckin'," he said with some relief, "then the other details'll just fall in place. I don't want us to be like that. If we—I mean, if we happen—I want it to be kinda the other way around."

"Oh," she said. Her forehead crinkled and he waited her out as she thought it over. He had a point. For her things usually started with the physical and deepened (or not) from there. Things had never been like that with Opie, though; they'd always been friends first, and now, as adults, she wanted him, but she also...

Cared. Enjoyed spending time. Trusted him and looked forward to talking to him and loved his company. And all of that had come before the wanting. The wanting had sprung from it, not vice versa. She didn't want to fuck that up with...fucking. Especially if he somehow thought that was all she was here for.

Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Do you think I'm some kind of slut?"

He'd been afraid she might think that was what he meant. "Oll, no, come on. Don't start that. I never thought anything like that."

She shook her head once, hard. "No. I know you didn't. And you're right. I do tend to do things sort of…backwards." She glanced over at him, and her skin was pale beneath her freckles. "Sex is an important part of a relationship for me, though. It's kind of how I…connect, I guess. Words lie. A touch doesn't."

"I get that," he said. His mouth twitched. "But, Oll, you know I'm not fifteen anymore."

"So you keep saying. I've noticed. You're taller, for one. Hairier."

"True," he said. He brushed her hair back and planted a soft kiss just behind her ear. "More patient, too. I've learned a few things since then, and I wanna make sure I get the chance to show you all of them." He punctuated the last few words with a kiss to her throat between each one, and by the time he was done, his low, raspy voice and teasing mouth had her trembling.

"You're not really helping the situation," she said.

"All I'm sayin', Olivia, is that when the time comes—and it will, if you want it to—I'm gonna take such good care of you. I'm gonna make you feel so damn good, and there won't be nothin' _quick_ about it."

She bit down hard on her lower lip and leaned away so she could truly look at him, without either of them touching the other. He'd said something similar on the phone that night, but this was different. His eyes were dark and intense, his face set in serious lines, and she knew he meant it. She could _see_ how much he wanted her, and for the moment it had very little to do with his cock. He wanted _her_. To touch _her_. To make _her_ moan his name and lose her mind and beg him for more. It was all written there like a huge neon sign, and she wondered how she'd ever questioned his motives before.

There was a pain in her chest, rough and sweet, and as her mouth fell open his name tumbled out. He smiled, just a little, and she stared at him in confusion. Her cheeks were hot and her hands shook. She tangled them together in the hopes he wouldn't notice, but she knew he already had.

He pressed his thumb to the pulse in her throat and just held it there. "I love you," he said, and his pupils went big when he felt it jump. Then, his voice husky, "I want you."

"Not fair," she whispered. "I can't control responses from my sympathetic nervous system, and I'm not monitoring _your_ vitals."

He grinned. How fucking _Ollie_. He took her hand and rested it against the center of his chest. "I love you," he said again, and his heart pounded hard beneath her palm. Softer, like a caress, "I want you," and she thought she felt it skip a beat.

She let out a breath. "I want you too," she said.

He circled his thumb against her skin and pulled her close. Their eyes met first, then their mouths, and hers were maybe the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

She hooked her fingers in his shirt and pulled her with him as she fell back on couch, and he arranged himself so that he rested between her legs. The kiss deepened; he nipped at her lips with his and she traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He ran his nose up the line of her throat and inhaled the familiar scent there: mint and lavender and a hint of sweat from their day running around the city.

Her skin tasted of salt and sunshine, and he sank his teeth into the spot where neck curved into shoulder. She breathed out his name and slid her palms under his shirt to massage the small of his back. He arched into her, almost involuntarily, and they both moaned at the pressure of his body so tight over hers.

"We need to stop," he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. The spot where the dimple appeared in her chin. Her throat just beneath her ear.

"Not yet," she said. "In a second. Not yet."

"Not yet," he said in fervent agreement. "Just a sec."

He dragged her legs up higher, so that her knees bracketed his ribs, and the changed angle had the bulge in his jeans pressed directly against the heat between her thighs. She rocked into him and his head fell back on a groan. She rucked the back of his shirt up to massage the muscles that danced under the big reaper, and he let his palm drift higher, to cup her breast, and she nodded encouragement at his questioning look.

He stroked the hardening nipple through shirt and bra, and his eyes widened when he felt the barbell beneath his fingers. "Ollie—?"

"Both of them," she said. "I'll show you if you want."

"I'm not sure—"

She rolled her eyes and tugged the hem of her t-shirt to her chin, and his breath came in a stuttering pant. Her bra was sheer, pale blue with a scatter of flowers, and the piercings beckoned him through the thin material.

"You really didn't know?" she said.

"I try not to stare at your tits, Olivia. It's sorta rude."

She bit her lip around a grin. "That rarely stops anyone."

He blushed, which made her laugh given the circumstances, and kissed her sternum. "Maybe I noticed, a little, but I was tryin' real hard not to think about it."

"Well now you know," she said. She flicked her tongue against the curve of his ear. "And you have my permission to think about it all you want."

"Not sure I could keep it out of my head now anyway, no matter how hard I tried." He cupped her breast in his big hand and ran his thumb over the nipple. She made a quiet noise of pleasure that made him smirk, and he bent his head to kiss her there. Just a kiss, soft and sweet, and she cursed.

"Is that what you were talking about?" she said.

"Hmm?" He was distracted, busy teasing the barbell with his fingertips, and he didn't know what she meant.

"When you said—Opie, Christ, that's so mean—when you said you'd take—mmmmm more of that, please!—your time."

"Oh." He grinned and pulled her shirt down again. "Yup. Somethin' like that."

She wrapped her legs tight around his waist and rolled them. He hit the floor with a breathless _oomph_ and caught her before she could topple over. "You okay?" she said. "Hurt?"

"No, fuck, ow. I'm fine. Nice rug you got here. Really cushions a fall."

She rested her hands on his chest and wiggled until she was in just the right spot. "You know you're not the only one who can tease, Harry Winston."

"That so?" he said.

"Uh huh." She rolled her hips, creating delicious, tantalizing friction despite the layers of material that separated them. She caressed the reapers on either hip. Skimmed her fingertips along his belly. Dipped to kiss the tattoo over his heart.

"Badass biker man," she murmured as she traced it with her tongue. "I could have you whimpering and begging in less than thirty seconds."

He tried to keep still, but it was impossible. He grabbed her waist to hold her down as he lifted to grind against her, and they both let out breathy, hungry moans.

"I know you could, baby," he said. "Believe me. I don't doubt it for a second."

"Good." She kissed him, sucking his lip into her mouth before she slicked her tongue over it. He pressed his hands to her back and she wiggled and rocked on his erection. "Gonna stop now," she said.

"Me too," he gasped.

"We're, um—we're on the same page, right?" She had her palms braced against his middle and it gave her exactly the leverage she needed to drive them both nuts.

"Yeah," he said. "Fuck yeah, fuck!"

"Are you agreeing or just enjoying yourself?"

"Both," he said. His forehead was creased, his mouth soft and reddened from her kisses, and he couldn't stop himself from jerking up into her.

"Fuck, Opie! Don't _do_ that! I'm—I'm gonna quit. I'm quitting now. Right—right now!"

"Please stop, for God's sake, gonna make a mess if you don't," he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut and kneading the muscles in her thighs.

"Be still," she said. She pressed harder on his stomach and he did his best to stop squirming and bucking. "Be still, baby."

She moved in slow, rolling undulations, her eyes steady on his and her lower lip caught between her teeth. She pulled her shirt off and batted his hands away when he reached for her breasts. Instead she cupped them herself, twisting and tugging at the barbells until her back arched and she breathed out a quiet moan.

Heat was a gathering wave through his whole body, and watching her was almost as erotic as _feeling_ her. His jeans rubbed against his shorts and his shorts slid over his cock, and every time she moved he couldn't hold back his desperate little gasps. His balls were tight, aching, his cock impossibly hard, and just when he thought he couldn't take another goddamn _second_ without fucking _exploding_, she went still.

He sucked in huge gulps of air until he felt like he could move again without coming in his pants, and she grinned down at him with a wicked gleam in her bright eyes. "It's customary to tip for a lap dance, isn't it?"

"I got a twenty in my wallet," he said, his voice shaky. "That might cover it."

"Ooo, generous."

He laughed. "Well _fucking_ earned. If this art thing doesn't work out, you've got a fallback career."

She giggled and boosted herself onto the couch, and he sat up with a groan. "Ow," he said again.

"I'm sorry. Want me to rub your back for you?"

He held up a hand. "Mercy, woman, for fuck's sake. Here." He offered her the t-shirt she'd discarded, and she smirked at him as she put it back on.

"I think I need a shower," he said.

"Poor baby. Got all sweaty." She lifted a brow as she eyed him. "Might be a good idea to jerk off while you're in there. You know, take the edge off a little."

He let his head drop between his knees and tried to concentrate on breathing. "Christ, Ollie. You're gonna be the death of me one day."

"Mmm," she said, a noise that might have meant she agreed. "At least you'll die happy."

"That's the goddamn truth," he said as he hauled himself to his feet. "Okay. Shower. Order the pizza while I'm gone?"

"You work up an appetite, Winston?"

"Somethin' like that." His teeth flashed as he grinned. "And if I didn't, I definitely will in there."

"You perv."

"Hey. It was your idea."

She went up on tiptoe to plant a kiss against his cheek. "I'm kind of a perv, too."

"Yep." He patted her ass and wandered toward the bathroom. "I never doubted it."

* * *

_I really meant to get this out yesterday, but some shit went down and no writing happened. But here we are again, so yay. :)_


	18. Shelter

Hi again. :) Thanks for your comments, as always, and I hope you enjoy this one. :)

* * *

**and if i pass this way again, you can rest assured**  
**i'll always do my best for her, on that i give my word**  
**in a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm**  
**"come in," she said, "i'll give you shelter from the storm"**  
Bob Dylan, "Shelter From the Storm"

"Oll?" She appeared at the top of the stairs, a question on her brow. "You call the cab?"

"Yep," she said. "It should be here soon."

"Walk me out?" he said, his smile sad.

She took the hand he offered and rested her head against his arm as they waited for the elevator. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I don't," he said. "I could stay. Jax can live without me."

She grinned and squeezed his palm. "You're very sweet, but I'm pretty sure they'd all be pissed if you missed the ride."

The Sons' annual Easter charity ride was later in the week, and the whole club was supposed to be there. Olivia could just imagine the reaction Opie would get if he said he was staying in New York with her. Neither of them spoke again, because they both knew it was true, until they were out on the street.

He pulled her against him and combed his fingers through her hair. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm gonna miss you."

"It's only a couple more weeks," she said.

Her arms went around him, beneath his kutte, and they stood like that for a long time. She didn't want to let him go. It _was_ only a couple of weeks, but in the few days he'd been here she'd realized just how lonely the city was for her, and how much she enjoyed spending time with him. He made her laugh, and she loved waking up next to him in the morning. Snuggling on the couch and watching bad TV and talking about…whatever. Anything.

He leaned back and rested his hand against the side of her neck, so that his fingers tickled her just behind the ear. His expression was so serious, his look so deep, and she felt a flush spread across her cheeks.

"What?" she said.

"Nothin'. Just lookin' at you."

"Oh." Her mouth curved. "What do you see?"

He hitched a shoulder. "You," he said. "Just you. Olivia." He bent to kiss her, sweet and chaste at first, but then with increasing heat as it stretched. "I love you," he murmured when it broke.

Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, but he forestalled her with a brief touch along her jaw.

"Don't. Don't say anything. It's cool. I can wait."

"Opie—"

"What did I just say? Quiet, woman!"

She laughed and he kissed her again. Caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. On the street behind them there was a honk.

"Cab's here," she said.

"He'll wait."

"Call me tonight, okay?" she said between quick, hot kisses. "Let me know you got in all right."

"I will," he said.

"Buddy, you gettin' in or not?"

He hauled in a sigh and waved at the driver, then turned back to her and cupped her face in both hands. His eyes were steady, and a small smile toyed with his mouth. "I think I gotta go," he said.

"Go on," she said. He rained kisses all over her face and she gave him a little shove. "Go! You miss your plane and you'll be pissed."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. He hugged her tight enough to take her breath and finally let go. "See you in a few weeks."

"I'll let you know as soon as I have a date."

"Sure," he said. He opened the cab's door and tossed his bag in. "Take care of yourself, Olivia."

"You too, Ope. Ride safe." She blew him a kiss and, before he could change his mind, he got in the car and shut the door behind him.

"Sorry," he said to the cabbie. "Leavin' my girl for a while. Kinda hard to say goodbye."

The driver shrugged. "Can't really blame you. She's a knockout. Kennedy or Laguardia?"

"Laguardia," he said. "Delta." He craned his neck to watch her out the back window as they drove away, and she stayed on the sidewalk for as long as he could see her. He let out a long sigh and settled back in his seat. Only a few weeks. Then he'd have her back again. And they could actually give this whole thing a try.

The cab turned the corner and disappeared, and Olivia finally trudged back into her building. The elevator ride seemed to last an eternity, and when the doors finally opened on her floor she dragged herself to the loft and shut the door behind her. Leaned against it and let her head fall back.

What the fuck was she doing? She should've gone with him. She didn't _have_ to stay here; her agent could do most of the work for her. But the opening had been a huge success, and they'd already sold three of her pieces. Apparently it was vital she be close and available and…

Olivia wanted all the things her agent was offering. She was ambitious and driven and this was her goddamn dream coming true. Opie knew all of that. He wasn't mad or upset that she'd chosen to stay; he hadn't tried to talk her out of it; but when she thought of him being back in Charming for two or three weeks without her, surrounded by crow eaters and whoever else—she clenched her teeth and pushed away from the door.

She should have told him. Except she hadn't known, not for sure, until she saw that cab turn the corner.

She loved him.

She had no idea exactly when it had happened, or how, but she was crazy stupid in love with Opie Winston.

They hadn't even had sex yet. There had been some serious kissing and heavy petting and that incident on the floor the other day…but she hadn't seen his penis in fifteen years. That wasn't usually how things _worked_ for her. It was sex, then feelings. Feelings from sex. Or…physical intimacy.

Which, on closer thought, they'd had. Sleeping next to someone was one of the more intimate things you could do, and that night on the phone, for all that an entire continent separated them, had been _incredibly_ intimate.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

How…how to tell him? Just blurt it out? Over the phone? Or wait until she got back to Charming? Because what if this was just a reaction to being left alone in the city? What if she just _missed_ him a whole lot, and her confused, orgasm-deprived mind (there had been a _lot_ of teasing) thought it meant she was in love with him?

She didn't buy that. She could try to talk herself out of it all day, but none of her doubts or second guessing mattered. She loved him. She loved him like coming in from the cold or rediscovering a book you read and loved as a kid, and hadn't seen since. She loved him like hot chocolate on a snow day and homemade strawberry ice cream on the Fourth of July.

Blushing, she pressed both hands to her face. She was in way over her head. How did any of this _work_? She'd loved Juice, sure, but they'd been in high school. It had been several months—a little over a year, by the time she finally ended it, but seven months of that they'd been apart—when they were seventeen years old.

She was twenty-nine now. An adult, supposedly, and more equipped to deal with things like falling in love with one of her best friends.

A deep, steadying breath and she smoothed her palms down her thighs. They'd be fine. Even if she had no clue what to do, Opie did. He steadied her. Calmed her. He was her…shelter from the storm, if she were inclined to quote Bob Dylan.

She wandered upstairs and fell back onto the bed. Wiggled out of her jeans and kicked them away before she stripped her t-shirt off, then her bra. The pillow smelled of him, and there were a few long brown hairs on it. She grinned. Boy needed a haircut.

Sunlight streamed in the loft's high windows and dappled the sheets. Lit up parts of her skin and brightened her freckles. She ran a hand along the curve of her hip and closed her eyes as she imagined Opie touching her there. He'd done that—a couple of times—over the weekend, but only through her clothes.

Olivia bit her lip around a giggle and reached for her vibrator. Maybe she would tell him about this later. Maybe. She wasn't sure if they were at the "masturbated while thinking about you" stage yet, but she could definitely tease him…

Before she got started she grabbed her phone and typed in a text: _I'm definitely not thinking about you. Or your penis. While in bed. Nearly naked._

She squeezed her eyes shut and hit _send_, then almost immediately wished it back. She should've at least waited until she knew he was on the plane, because that way he wouldn't get it until he was back in California and—

A _bing_ interrupted her thoughts, and for a moment she didn't want to check it.

-_JC I almost tripped walkin in the airport don't do that_

_Good almost trip, or bad?_

-_is there a GOOD way to almost trip!?_

The mental image made her laugh. _Sorry, Winston. I'll keep it to myself from now on._

-_no. didn't say that. pls. details._

_Maybe let's wait until tonight. On the phone? Gives you an excuse to call me._

-_as if I need one. gotta go my turn. talk 2night._

She typed a quick goodbye and swapped phone for sex toy. Now that she knew he'd be thinking about her while she did it, she needed to come even more. She wanted to make _him_ come, like he'd done for her that night on the phone. She wanted to hear him: his high, desperate gasps and his breathless, hungry moans. More than she'd heard this weekend. Him chanting her name and begging for more and, God, making _her_ beg—!

Fuck. The ringing phone interrupted her, and she almost ignored it. But it could be Opie, maybe, not content to wait until tonight…

Except the caller ID had Tara's number. Jesus it was early as hell over there. "Tara," she said once she was sure she had control of her breathing. "Hey, everything okay?"

"Ollie!"

She sounded both relieved and terrified, and Olivia forgot about Opie and the vibrator completely. "What's wrong?"

Olivia heard a hiccup, like Tara was trying not to cry. "It's Kohn," she said. "He found me."

* * *

Olivia got Tara calmed down and managed to wrestle some details out of her. She hadn't seen Kohn in Charming; wasn't sure if he were there or not; but the last few days she'd been getting hangup calls from an unknown number. She'd tried not to think about it too much—but then last night he left a message.

Tara had played it for her and it gave Olivia chills. It sounded so…if you didn't know, if you hadn't seen him in action (or a younger version of him, as Olivia had), you would think it was a perfectly solicitous message. A man concerned about his girlfriend. Worried that she needed him.

This man wasn't stupid, and he knew enough about the law to use and manipulate it. Tara would have to get a new restraining order in California, and there was no way that message was getting her one.

Tara had to work, and Olivia encouraged her to go. The hospital was public; _if_ Kohn were in Charming, that was probably the last place he'd try anything. Plus working would help get her mind off everything, and that was only for the good.

As soon as they hung up she tried to call Opie, but it was apparently too late. One ring and straight to voicemail. She wasn't sure she wanted to leave this in a message.

Chewing her lip the whole way through his brief greeting and the subsequent instructions, she finally settled on, "Hey, it's Oll. Call me as soon as you get this. It's about Tara. Urgent, okay? Or, better yet, call her. Or go straight to her place. But still call me to let me know you got this. Sorry. I think you know what this is about. Um. Have a safe flight and we'll talk soon."

Fucking voicemail.

Tara had given her strict, explicit instructions to _not call Jax under any circumstances on pain of slow and horrible death and I'm a surgeon so fucking well believe I can do it_, and with Opie incommunicado…Olivia wasn't sure who could help.

Gemma?

Ugh, no, that was as bad as Jax. Maybe worse.

Olivia had pulled her shirt back on as she talked to Tara, and now she hurried downstairs where there was more room to pace. They had both agreed someone in Charming needed to know. Someone who could look out for her and call in cavalry if needs be. _Cavalry_, of course, meant _SAMCRO_, but…maybe Unser?

No, that wasn't a great idea. Kohn was a Fed, and without a restraining order Unser's hands were tied. He could do things for the club on a local scale, but once the Feds stepped in he had to move along.

Fuck.

No.

There was no other choice. No one left. Unless she dragged Chibs or Tig into this, and their loyalty would be to Jax and the club before Olivia or Tara. So would Opie's, ultimately, but she knew she could count on him to keep the secret for a little while.

The only other person who fit that description was Juice. She wouldn't have to spend and hour explaining why Tara wasn't ready for Jax or all of SAMCRO to know, and he would help. He would look out for her as much as he could; keep an eye on her place and…

Plus Ope would be off soon on the charity run, and he'd said Juice was one of the guys staying behind to look after the clubhouse and TM. So Juice would be in Charming, with the bulk of the club gone, and it would leave him freer to keep an eye on Tara.

"Dammit," she muttered. "Fine. Fine!"

They hadn't talked since before she left for New York, and she still had the message he'd left the night of the gala saved in her voicemail. If she were being completely honest with herself, she'd missed him. His smile, mostly. Not just the smile itself—though that was certainly nice—but all the ways it made her feel. She associated Juice's smile with some of the happiest times in her life, and even now when she saw it she couldn't help but return it.

She hit the speed dial button for his number and waited. If it went to voicemail she would just—she couldn't hang up without leaving a message. He would worry. So she'd just say hi, she'd been thinking about him since the gala—no, that was no good. She'd just say hi, and ask him—

"Liv? What's up? Are you still in New York? Is everything okay?"

Her entire body relaxed the second she heard his voice, and she had to fight the urge to cry. "Yeah," she said, but she choked on it. She took a deep breath and let it out before trying again. "Yeah, I'm still in the city. And I'm okay."

"Huh. You don't really sound it."

_He_ sounded half-asleep—it was barely seven there—and when she heard a squeak like bedsprings she knew she'd woken him.

"I'm sorry it's so early."

"No," he said. "Nah, it's okay, just gimme a sec." He muffled the phone, probably against his chest, and she heard him murmur something to someone.

Oh. He wasn't alone.

Well duh. How stupid to just assume he would be. He had crow eaters, and besides that she was sure he would have no trouble picking up nearly anyone he wanted. Olivia had moved on, hadn't she? Why shouldn't Juice?

He said he'd tell her if he met anyone important—but maybe that didn't apply when she was on the other side of the country. It was sort of an awkward phone call to have, wasn't it? Ms. Manners hadn't written an etiquette book on that particular conversation.

"Okay, sorry," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You're with someone."

"That's what's wrong?"

She wasn't sure if he sounded amused or surprised, and she had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. "No, of course not. I just meant—I'm interrupting, and I'm sure they love the idea of you stepping away at the crack of dawn to take a call from your ex."

"It's okay," he said. "Yvonne's cool. She knows—I mean. I told her about us. Some. About us."

Olivia wrapped her free arm around her stomach and wandered toward the windows. She could see the city bustling down in the street below. The hotdog guy was on the corner, and the falafel truck was just pulling into its spot. A cop chatted with the homeless guy who usually crashed on the bench across the street. Maybe moving him along. Maybe just talking.

"You sure that doesn't make it worse?" she said.

"I don't know. Maybe." He paused, and there was the open and shutting of cabinets in the background. "Look, Liv, I would've told you about her, but—"

"Hey, it's okay. I know we had that talk about it, but I've been away. I wouldn't expect you to call me up out of the blue to say you were seeing someone."

"I'm not exactly _seeing_ her. At least, I wasn't."

"But you are now?"

He paused. Water ran. "Yeah. I guess. Maybe."

She pressed a hand to her mouth and swallowed around the lump in her throat. "That's good, Juice. I mean it. It's really good."

"Hhmm." He cleared his own throat and his tone changed, turned brisker. "I guess that's not why you're calling me, then."

"What?" she said, blinking a little.

"At—seven-oh-four in the morning, I'm guessing you're not calling to tell me about you and Ope."

"Me and Ope? Juicy—"

"I told him he should go."

He'd thrown her again, and for a moment she couldn't speak. Finally, "Go where?"

"To New York, Liv. I told him he had to be the one to go. Tara couldn't, because of the hospital, and you invited everybody but I know it wasn't everybody you wanted. Especially not me. So I told him he had to be the one." A brief pause, then, softer, "He's the one you wanted there anyway."

The homeless man ambled down the block, but not before turning back to shout something at the cop. Moving him along, then.

"I'm not sure we should be having this conversation on the phone."

He took a long breath. "Not sure I can have it lookin' at you, Olivia. But, you know, if I gotta hear about you and another guy, I'd rather it be Ope. Somebody I know. Somebody who—who'll really take care of you. Don't get mad," he said as she opened her mouth. "I know you don't need takin' care of."

She could hear the smile in his voice, and she rubbed a hand against the center of her chest, where the pain was. "I do, actually," she said. "This time I do. Or—I need—I need you."

"What?" he said, and she thought she heard a box of cereal hit the floor. He cursed. "Goddammit. Dropped Frosted Flakes everywhere."

She muffled a giggle. "I'm sorry. That maybe came out a little wrong. Fuck, I'm fucking this all up and all I need is a favor. Your help. I need your _help_."

"Oh."

"An important favor. For Tara."

"She need somebody to pick up her dry cleaning while she's busy savin' babies?" he said, and beneath his joking tone she thought she heard something…else.

"No, come on, nothing like that." She spun away from the window and resumed pacing. "Look, okay, it's kind of a long story, and I probably would've told you sooner, but Tara didn't really want people knowing."

There was a sound like the scrape of a chair along linoleum. Then, "Tell me. I'm listening."

She fell down on the couch and spilled the entire story: Tara and Kohn, the trip to Chicago, her call to Opie for help, and all the precautions they'd taken to keep Tara safe in Charming. "He found her, Juice. Not sure if he's been looking for her the whole time, but he found her, and I guarantee you he'll be headed west soon."

"Shit. You tell Opie all this?"

"He's on the plane already."

"Ah. Yeah. Guess you called him first."

She let out an irritated sigh. "He knows everything, and it didn't mean letting someone new in on Tara's private life. Gimme a break here, Ortiz."

He laughed, quick and rough. "Yeah, okay, you're right. Sorry." His voice sobered. "You want me to check in on her? Make sure he's not hangin' around?"

"Yes," she said with relief. "Please. Don't tell the rest of the club—_least_ of all Jax—but just kind of keep an eye. Maybe casually find out from Unser if the Feds have been poking around in anything? Or if they've sent somebody to Charming? I wouldn't put it past him to exploit all his law enforcement connections."

"Shit," Juice said on a breath.

"Yeah."

"It's okay, Liv. I'm on it."

"Thank you," she said.

"Of course. Tara's my friend, too."

"I know. But still—thank you. I'm all the way over here and I feel so fucking helpless. She's alone, Juice. And this guy, I mean…he makes TJ Flanary look like a Boy Scout."

"TJ Flanary fifteen years later, with a badge."

"Exactly. If something happened to her—"

"It's okay. You don't gotta explain. I know what Tara means to you."

She rubbed at her face, trying to _will_ the tears to stay in her eyes. "I hope you know what you mean to me too, Juicy."

It maybe wasn't the smartest thing to say, under the circumstances, but she hated him feeling like—she didn't know. That she was using him? That he was her last choice? That she'd only called because she knew he, of all people, would drop everything and do what she asked?

It wasn't how she meant it, at all, and she needed him to know that.

"I think I do," he said, quietly.

"I'm just saying—be careful. He's dangerous, he's armed, and he's a Fed. He could do some real damage to SAMCRO with the proper motivation."

"I know he could," Juice said. "But, look. I can do some real damage, too—and I can make it look like nothin' happened."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a hacker, Liv. Remember?"

She grinned, big and bright. "I knew I called the right man for the job."

"Yeah you did."

She heard a voice in the background, a soft feminine voice, and Juice said something before he was back. "Sorry," he said. "I should go."

"Probably. But thank you. I mean it."

"I know you do," he said. "We'll talk when you get back. I mean—uh. If you want to."

"I do," she said. She wished she could touch him. Maybe just brush her fingers against his cheek or squeeze his hand. "Yeah, of course I do."

"Great. Good. I'll, um…we'll…that sounds…I mean, ya know. It sounds real good."

She laughed again. He was such a dweeb. "Goodbye, Juan Carlos."

"Bye, Liv," he said, and she could tell he was grinning.

She snapped the phone closed and rubbed a hand through her hair. That had been a strange conversation, to say the least, but—Juice would take care of Tara. Apparently he was planning some digital mayhem, too, and as long as he were careful (which of course he would be), that sounded like a solid strategy.

"Play to your strengths, Ortiz," she murmured. "Don't play to someone else's."

Dropping the phone on the coffee table, she got up to hit the shower. She'd lazed around enough for one morning; she had shit to do.

* * *

_Take it as you will, my friends._


	19. Angels and Devils

Back again. Thanks for all your messages, lovelies. :)

* * *

**i miss the pull of your heart**  
**i taste the sparks on your tongue**  
**i see angels and devils**  
**and god when you come on  
**Matt Nathanson, "Come on Get Higher"

Olivia's flight had been listed as "arrived" for nearly twenty minutes. The gate was kind of far, but still. What was taking her so long? Had she changed her mind? Decided to stay in New York? She wouldn't do that. Not without telling him.

He stood in the arrivals area with his hands in the pockets on his kutte, and the crowd around him eyed him sidelong. He was big. He wore a kutte. He had a beard and lots of hair and a thick wallet chain. Overall he made people nervous.

What would he do when he saw her? A hug for sure. She'd want a hug. What about…she probably wouldn't want a kiss in public. Yeah, there'd been plenty of kisses that day on the street as they said goodbye, but that was different.

He clenched and relaxed his fingers as he tried to calm his nerves. Where was she?

Just as he was about to go from _nervous_ to _worried_, he caught a flash of bright hair coming his way. He lifted a hand in a wave, and she waved back. Her smile lit up the room and he felt his breath catch and his heart skip a couple of beats.

"Hey," he said when she was close enough.

"Hey." Her carry-on was slung over her shoulder, and she gripped the strap so tight her knuckles were white. Their eyes met and a silence stretched between them. He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off her cheek and that broke the spell.

She threw herself at him and he caught her with a surprised _oomph_. "I missed you," she whispered into his chest. His scent was so familiar, leather and cigarettes and citrus.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her tight. "I missed you too," he said.

She pulled away and tugged his beard with a grin. "Come on. Baggage claim awaits." She linked her fingers with his almost without thinking, and neither of them could wipe the stupid happy smiles off their faces.

"How was your flight?" he said as they stepped onto the escalator.

"Good," she said. "Uneventful."

"That's the best kind."

"Mmhhmm," she said. She rubbed her tummy. "I'm starving, though."

"Still living your _never eat airplane food_ philosophy?"

"Yep. I'm not givin' it up now. I just wish I'd remembered to pack the food I made."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to kiss her temple. "We'll get something. You're not gonna starve on my watch."

"My hero," she said. They paused a moment to check the arrivals board, then wandered toward the right claim area.

He made a low noise of agreement and tried to smother a smile. "Just so you know, Gemma cleaned your house and stocked your fridge yesterday."

She stared up at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was dead set. But, I mean. I guess it's better than coming home to dust and an empty fridge?"

Olivia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Yeah, I guess. I just wish she'd asked first."

"I know. I told her. But you know how she gets."

"I do," she said. "Oh, that's mine." She stepped forward to grab it, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Let me," he said.

"I can handle my bags, Ope."

"I know," he said. He cupped her cheek in his palm and brushed his thumb against her skin. "Let me anyway."

He wasn't just talking about her luggage, of course, and it was on the tip of her tongue to just spill it: _I love you_; but here? In an airport baggage claim? She swallowed the words down and said only, "Yeah, Opie. Okay."

A soft kiss to her forehead and he was off, around the carousel to grab the suitcase just before it went back in for another loop. Her luggage was distinctive; lime green Diane von Fürstenberg (though he didn't know the last part); and he swooped up each piece as it went by. She'd been in New York nearly two months, and she had the bags to prove it. Finally he had a little pile of it around her feet and she nodded.

"That's everything."

"Wow," he said.

"Opie. It's three bags and a carry-on. Like, are you kidding? I could've packed twice this much." She paused and bit her lip. "I shipped a bunch of it. Most of the stuff I bought there."

"Uh huh," he said. "Come on. I'll pull the truck around."

* * *

"I see Gemma's been taking care of my yard, too," Olivia said as he pulled into her driveway. They'd spent the drive back catching up on all the things they didn't talk about on the phone: the Jax and Wendy situation; general MC life; the state of business at TM; and Olivia had to admit she was glad to finally be back in Charming.

"We all have, sorta. Like mowin' and stuff. She did all the flowers." At her look he shrugged. "Someone had to. Didn't wanna make it look like the bum who lived here took off to New York for two months and left the place abandoned."

He helped her get everything inside and back to her bedroom, and she dropped onto her bed with a long sigh. "It's good to be home." A pause. "And I guess it's nice to have clean-smelling sheets rather than stale-smelling ones."

From his spot leaning in the doorway he managed a brief grin. He had no idea of the protocol here. Did he—did he just walk into her room? Without being invited? While she was on the bed? Yeah they'd shared a bed in New York, but that was…and it was different, because this was _her_ bed, in _her_ bedroom, in _her_ house.

As if sensing his confusion, she pushed herself to her feet and joined him in the hall. "How about some food?" she said. "Let's see what Gemma and her elves left in my fridge."

"We could just order somethin'," he said. "I mean, you gotta be tired. Flyin' is such a pain in the ass."

She cast him a curious look. "You really don't like to travel, do you?"

He ducked his head and tugged his beanie down a little. "Nah. Unless I'm on my bike. I like a road trip. But airports? Planes? You got any idea how tiny them seats are? And no fuckin' legroom. And I always get weird looks from security like I'm up to somethin' because I've got a beard."

"The kutte probably doesn't help," she said.

"Not really."

"Hey." She pulled at his beard until he looked up at her. "Thank you," she said. Her smile was sweet, her voice soft and sincere. "Not just for New York, but Chicago too. You didn't have to do that for me. Either time."

He eyed her. "Of course I did, Oll. And, I mean—I wanted to. To make sure Tara's asshole ex didn't hurt you guys, and then to see you in New York. See your show." He hitched a shoulder. "All of it."

She combed her fingers through the hair along his jaw and lifted up on tiptoes to kiss him long and slow. "I love you, Opie," she whispered against his lips, almost without meaning to.

He jerked away and she stumbled backwards into the wall, a hand pressed to her mouth as she tried to process what she'd just said. Her eyes were huge, her cheeks bright pink, but he was still sure he'd misheard her. Or misunderstood.

His mouth worked but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What?" True brilliance.

"Um. I just…Pizza. Pizza would be…awesome. Don't you think?"

"Yeah. I like pizza. But what'd you just say?"

"Get your ears checked, Winston. I said _pizza would be awesome_," she repeated, raising her voice and enunciating each syllable.

He rolled his eyes. "Olivia Jameson."

For a moment he thought she'd try to dodge again, but then she let out a long breath and clenched her hands together. "I love you," she said in a rush. "I'm in love with you. I love—"

He cut her off with a kiss, swooping her against him with an arm around her waist, and as her feet left the floor she let out a surprised _eep_ that he swallowed down. He rested his palm along her jaw and held her tight, and her arms came up to wrap around his neck.

"Say it again," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.

"I love you," she breathed.

He closed his eyes. "You mean it?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't. I love you, Harry."

His grin was so big it hurt his face, and he couldn't stop kissing her. She giggled as he traced a line down the side of her neck and then came back to her mouth again. He kissed the tears off her cheeks and around the curve of her ear, and then went still.

"I love you too, Olivia," he murmured.

"You didn't change your mind while I was gone?"

He tilted far enough away to see her face, to get a good long look, and he recognized the fear and doubt in her eyes. "No," he said, simply.

Her forehead landed on his shoulder and her voice was thick. "Good," she said. "I wanted to wait until we saw each other to tell you. It didn't feel right over the phone, but I worried the whole time. That you'd get tired of waiting or, hell, you'd meet someone else—"

"You weren't gone that long!"

"I know, but—"

"Olivia, look at me." He loosened his hold so that she slid down his body until she was on her feet again. He hesitated, then laced his fingers through her hair to pull her head back. Her eyes fluttered closed and she made a noise that—

"Whoa," he said, his breath catching on the word. "What was that?"

She lifted a brow, and her smile was a lazy curve. "You pulled my hair, Opie. How'd you think I'd react?"

"Oh." He swallowed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," she said. She disentangled herself and patted his ass as she brushed by him. "I guess you just have that effect on me."

He stared after her, wide-eyed. She apparently had that effect on him, too. "Wait," he said. "Were we—was the conversation over?"

"Nope. I just thought we should order that pizza."

She stood in the kitchen, her back to him, and he watched a moment as she dialed the pizza place. As soon as she said hello he captured her body between his and the counter and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

A quick glare over her shoulder as she tried to wiggle away, but he planted his hands on either side of her, and she was trapped.

"No, sorry, got distracted," she said to the guy on the phone. "I'd like two larges"—Opie could eat one practically on his own—"with, um…uh…"

He grinned and ran a hand under her shirt to tickle her tummy as he kissed her ear.

"Um. One of them with broccoli and pepperoni. Er—"

She swatted at him, but he just laughed, muffling it in the curve of her shoulder, and sucked her soft skin into his mouth.

"Olives!" she said. "Sorry. Um. Pepperoni, broccoli, and olives."

"Sausage," he whispered, his breath warm and shivery. He pinched her side and she grabbed his hand. "And artichokes. And get cheesy bread."

She wiggled, arching her body into his, and said, "Sausage and artichokes on the other, with light sauce. And an order of cheese bread."

He tugged her shirt aside to plant easy, sucking kisses along her shoulder while his fingers stroked up and down her side. She confirmed her address and the total with the pizza guy, then hit the button on the phone and slammed it down on the counter.

"Harry Winston!"

"What?" he said, all innocence. He bit the back of her neck and soothed the spot with a gentle brush of his lips.

"That guy probably thought I was nuts."

"Uh huh, maybe. Flaky, at the least." He dragged his hand higher, to run his thumb along the underside of her breasts.

"Opie," she murmured. Her palms were braced against the counter and she rocked back into him with a quiet sigh.

"See?" he said. "You love it when I tease you."

She turned in his arms so they were face to face and ran her hands under his shirt to tickle the small of his back. "Maybe I'm tired of teasing," she said.

He stroked lower, to her thighs, then back again, this time under her skirt. "Maybe I am, too," he said, his voice a low rasp.

He hooked two fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down. She wiggled until they were around her ankles, and he lifted her onto the counter. She shoved the beanie off his head so she could comb through his hair, and he pressed into her with a low groan.

"I love you," he said just before their mouths met. He swirled his tongue against hers and kneaded her thighs. Sucked her lower lip and rucked her skirt up to her waist.

"I love you too," she said, her eyes steady on his. She leaned back far enough to pull her shirt over her head, and he tugged the cups of her bra down so he could lick and suck her nipples.

"God I love these," he mumbled. He worked the barbell with his tongue; rolled it between his lips; and her head fell back on a rough breath.

"My tits?"

"Yeah," he said, laughing a little. "But I more meant the nipple piercings. They're sexy as hell."

"Oh," she said. "Well boy do I have a surprise for you."

He cast her a questioning look, but she just smirked. "You'll see."

"Hhhmm," he said. He arched her backwards so that he could kiss lower, down her belly, before he ran his tongue over the scars on her thigh. He kissed each one, lavishing it with attention, and then kissed his way to the inside of her knee.

"I wanna taste you, Ollie," he said. "Before we do anything else I want that. Please?"

They'd been each other's firsts for a lot of things, but she'd never let him go down on her. At the time she'd really liked the idea of it, but it seemed so incredibly…intimate. His mouth on her…his tongue and his lips and him _tasting_ her…

Just like he wanted to do now, only it was fifteen years later, and the thought of being that intimate with Opie thrilled her much more than it scared her. She loved him. She trusted him. And oral was just the start of what she wanted him to do to her.

She smiled and ran a fingertip along the line of his nose. "What about the pizza?" she said with a teasing grin.

"What about it?"

She tweaked his nose, which made him scrunch it in a way that made her want to kiss him and never stop. "I'd hate for you to spoil your appetite," she said when she could speak again.

"I think I'd rather have dessert first," he said. He dipped his head to lick a long trail up the inside of her thigh, and she shuddered.

"Yeah, Ope," she said on a shaky breath. "I think that's a grand idea."

He hauled her closer with a hungry growl and dropped to his knees. He nipped and sucked at her inner thigh, first one leg then the other, and left small red marks in his wake that he returned to soothe with his tongue. She leaned back, her palms flat against the counter, and moaned as he draped her legs over his shoulders.

"Gonna make you feel so good," he said between licks and nibbles. "Gonna take such good care of you, baby. Holy shit I've needed to get my mouth on you for so goddamn long."

"Please, Opie," she breathed. "Please, I need it too! So bad, sweetheart."

He made a noise low in his throat and dragged his tongue up her slit. Her hips jerked and he chuckled, wrapping his hands around her to hold her still.

His eyes darted up to meet hers and she grinned down at him. "I guess this's what you meant," he said, flicking the piercing with his tongue.

"Fuck!" she said, a quiet gasp. "Yep, that's it."

He spread her lips and the line formed between his brows. "That's…wow. Jesus, Oll."

"You like?"

For a long time he could only stare, his brain blank and buzzing like static on a TV screen, but finally he managed a jerky nod. "Yeah," he said. "Fuck yeah." He rubbed his tongue over the top ball so that the one nestled against her clit wiggled.

"Mmmm," she said. "Like that, babe."

"That's good?" he said and did it again.

"Uh huh. So good!"

He lapped at her, catching his tongue on the little blue ball so that the piercing rocked and bounced on her clit, and her heels pressed harder into his back. Curious, he sucked it into his mouth. Rolled it between his lips. Spun it with the tip of his tongue, like he did to the barbells.

"Fuck, Opie," she panted. "Fuck, baby, that's right, please!"

"You taste so good," he muttered. "So goddamn sweet. Wanna lick you all up, Ollie baby."

She just moaned, and he smirked as he licked lower, dipping his tongue inside her and swirling it. He made sure his nose bumped against the piercing when he bobbed his head, and the noises she made turned breathier and more high-pitched.

He sucked her labia into his mouth, each in turn, and lapped over her inner lips. Again when she fisted her fingers into his hair.

"Yes, fuck, oh God! Don't stop, don't stop, just like that!"

He groaned, low and rough, and swirled his tongue around and around her clit. Flicked back and forth across it until the muscles in her legs danced and jumped. He clamped both hands around her thighs and squeezed as he worked her with his mouth, and she chanted his name in a drunken, desperate litany.

She tasted so good, so _fucking_ good, and he couldn't get enough. He wanted to feel her come on his tongue, taste it on his lips and in his beard, and then make her come again.

"Use your fingers," she gasped. "Please, Ope, your fingers!"

He cursed under his breath and slid one finger into her. "Like that?" he said. He hooked it until she shuddered, and he tapped against her G-spot again and again. "That what you want?"

"Uh huh," she said. "Like that, yes, fuck that's it!"

"How many you want, baby?" he said. He licked at the piercing and she let out a breathless keen. "Tell me how many fingers to use on you. Just one?"

"Two!" she gasped. "Two, I need more!"

He grinned. "I know you do, sweetheart. I know." He pulled the first one out and thrust back in again with two, and her hips nearly came up off the counter. "You gonna come for me, Olivia?"

"Yeah, Ope, fuck I'm so close! Please, baby, don't stop!"

"Wasn't gonna," he rasped. He sucked on her clit, flicking the piercing as he did, and her back arched. Long and slow, hard and quick, with his fingers curling against her G-spot every time she wiggled, and he felt her go tense.

"Oh God," she moaned. "Opie, please, yes fuck oh my God!"

She came in a rush, a sudden burst of pleasure that left her voiceless and breathless, and all she could do was buck against him, her heels drumming his back and her thighs tightening on his shoulders. She yanked at his hair, almost hard enough to hurt, but he didn't let up, just kept working her clit with his tongue to take her higher and higher.

"Fuck," she said, almost soundless. "God oh God oh God please please _yes_!"

He groaned into her slick skin and the vibration made her shudder all over again. He started to ease off a little, and she slumped back against the cabinet with a long breath.

He kissed the inside of her thigh and smiled up at her. "You okay?"

"Uh huh," she said with a stunned nod.

Licking his swollen lips, he rose to his feet and pulled her close for a kiss. She sucked her own wetness off his mouth and he gave a helpless moan. "You are so fuckin' sexy," he said. He tangled both hands in her hair and her legs went around his waist and his tongue plunged in and out of her mouth.

"Ready for more?" he murmured, nuzzling the pulse point in her throat.

"What?" she said on a laugh. "Already?"

"I'm gonna lick you all night, baby. Sorry. That's just the way it is."

She shivered, but before she could answer the doorbell rang. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh and dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Okay, first we eat pizza…then I eat you. Sound good?"

"Yeah," she finally managed. "Yeah, yes. Sounds like one hell of a way to spend an evening."

"Was hoping you'd say that." He kissed her again, lingering over it, and it was just starting to turn desperate when the bell went again.

He let out a groan of frustration. "Okay. Be right back." But he didn't move, just kept kissing her, and finally she pushed him away with a giggle.

"Go!" she said. "Pizza awaits!"

"Sorry, sorry. I guess I'm hungry for something else."

"Mmmm," she said. "I am too." She nipped at his lips. "But pizza."

"Right. Pizza." One more quick kiss and he pushed away from the counter. "Be right back."

"I'll be here."

From the doorway he cast her a long look, his eyes tracing a fiery path up the length of her legs, along her body, and finally to her face. "You better be," he said. "I'm definitely not done with you."

"Don't worry, baby," she said, her voice a silky promise. "I'm not done with you, either."

* * *

_I took a few days off from this one to sort of...solidify my vision? if that makes sense. I know where I'm going, and I hope you guys'll stick around for the ride. ;)_


	20. I'll Get By

Back again. :) Keep the kind words coming, loves; they're much appreciated.

* * *

**i understand that you are going through a hard time**  
**but what you need to recognize i'm in one too**  
**you say that maybe we should take some time apart**  
**but you go your way, i'll get by, and you'll go get high**  
**you just see if i mind**  
Better Than Ezra, "Get You In"

Next morning the ringing phone woke her, and Olivia turned toward it with a growl of annoyance. Opie had slipped out early, off on some club business, and she'd been enjoying her sleep. Especially after her long day and late night yesterday.

She checked the Caller ID and her scowl changed to a grin. Tara. "Hey, babe," she said. "How're things?"

"Welcome back, bitch. Thanks for calling."

"Sorry. I've been…well. When are you on today? Wanna get together?"

"I'm actually on my way to your place right now. I just wanted to make sure you were awake before I let myself in."

"Nice. I'm in bed. Just come on back."

They said their goodbyes, and Olivia dozed off between hanging up and the feel of the bed sinking under Tara's weight.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said. She wrapped herself around Olivia and squeezed, and Olivia made a sleepy noise of protest.

"You are way too chipper for this early in the day," she said.

"Poor kid. Jet lag?"

She flipped onto her side facing Tara and smothered a yawn. "Uh huh. Jet lag combined with traveling all day yesterday, and then…" She bit her lip around a grin and Tara lifted a brow.

"_And then_ what? Did you finally get laid?"

"Sort of. There were orgasms. Many. Many. Orgasms. But no penis ever got involved."

Tara smirked. "So just you and your vibrator, huh? Another Tuesday night at _Chez _Gable_,_" she said, her voice teasing.

Olivia stuck her tongue out at her. "More like me and my very large biker lover who _really_ knows how to use his damn mouth."

"Oh my God, Ollie. Just because you're getting laid now doesn't mean you have to be a smug bitch about it."

"I'm not!" she said with a squeak of dismay

Tara let out a long sigh and fell back against the pillow. "I could use some of that right about now."

"Teller not puttin' out?"

"Olivia, please. Jax and I are only barely speaking. I can just imagine: _hey, Jax, if you're not busy, I could really use some oral sex. Tonight work for you_?" She snorted and waved a hand while Olivia smothered a laugh.

"He'd probably come in his pants. He's so used to crow eaters these days, you know? I bet he's just dying to get back with a woman who's not afraid to call the shots."

Tara gave her the gimlet eye, and Olivia lifted a hand in surrender.

"Have you at least talked to him?"

"A little," she said, "but it wasn't, like, scintillating conversation."

"Hhmm. Okay! I have an idea that might cheer you up."

"Unless it involves cupcakes, I'm not sure it's gonna do the trick."

"You read my mind. That new bakery that opened downtown? The cupcake place."

"It's an idea," Tara said. She frowned. "I guess the owner brought a bunch by TM the other day."

"Yeah, Opie hasn't stopped talking it. There were banana pudding cupcakes?"

"And German chocolate."

"Créme de menthe. It sounded pretty wild."

Tara rolled onto her tummy and propped her chin on her hand. "It sucks that businesses have to cater to the MC like that."

"I don't know," Olivia said. "Maybe it was just one small business owner reaching out to another."

"Okay, Pollyanna," Tara said with a snort. "SAMCRO's had this town by the balls since we were in utero. I don't think anything's changed since then."

"Mmm," Olivia said in mild agreement. "Well. At least they got free cupcakes out of it." Suddenly she giggled, and Tara eyed her. "I'm just thinking of all those hard-boiled bikers in their leather tryin' to be all badass while eating cupcakes."

Tara laughed. "Happy. Eating a cupcake."

"Opie shoving the whole thing in his mouth at one go and then getting icing in his beard."

"Chibs trying to pretend he doesn't want one while sneaking a bunch into his locker."

By that time they were both snickering, and they could feel the beginnings of a full-on giggle fit. "Happy eating a cupcake!" Olivia said again, and they fell against each other, totally lost.

The ringing phone started to bring them back, and Olivia groped for it as Tara wrapped an arm around her middle and tried to catch her breath.

"It's Ope," Olivia said.

"Here." Tara gestured for it. "Give it to me."

Olivia gave her an odd look but handed it over, and Tara was still panting when she answered. "Hi, Ope. Sorry, Ollie's kinda busy."

She hit the speaker button and caught him mid-sentence. "—out of breath?"

"Uhh…_busy_, Opie. Do I have to paint you a picture?"

Olivia's eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

Tara's voice went even breathier, and she held the phone away a little. "Like that!" she gasped. "That's so good, Ollie!"

"_What_?"

"Don't stop! Don't stop!"

"Mmmm, Tara, you taste so yummy!" Olivia said, pitching her voice to be low and husky.

"Holy shit! What are you two doing?!"

They couldn't hold it any longer, and his desperate tone sent them both into hysterics again. Olivia groaned in pain from her aching abs and wiped tears off her cheeks while Tara buried her face in the pillow.

"Sorry, babe," Olivia said once she could speak again. "We're just fuckin' with you."

"Jesus Christ, Olivia, don't do that! That's not—it ain't—look, I got stuff goin' on here and I can't be thinkin' about—" He paused and huffed out a breath. "You both suck," he said, lamely.

Olivia made a low noise. "Not yet, but that's an option."

"Ollie!" he said. "I'm tryin' to _work_ here."

"Okay, okay," she said, smacking Tara with the back of her hand as they both tried to get their giggles under control. "I'm sorry. Really."

"Uh huh," he said. Then, after a thoughtful moment, "You know, when we were kids me'n' Jax always wondered if you two did more than just make out that one time."

She and Tara shared a look. "We didn't," Olivia said. "But I hope imagining it gave you boys plenty to think about it."

"Uh huh," he said. "It sure did."

She rolled her eyes at Tara and took him off speaker. "What's up?" she said.

"Nothin'. Just checkin' in since you were asleep when I left this morning. I was missin' you."

"Already?" she said with a teasing grin.

"Yup. Already." There was a sound like a door closing, and things got quieter on his end. "Can I see you tonight?"

"Of course. I hope so. I want to see you."

His voice dropped even lower. "I miss the way you taste," he said.

She cut a look at Tara and smirked. "Already?" she said again, a quiet murmur.

"Mmhhmm," he said. Then, "Shit, I gotta go. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure thing. Hey. I love you."

"I love you too," he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

"Awwwww!" Tara said, loud enough for Opie to hear.

"Jesus," he muttered. "Tell Tara I said fuck off."

"Opie says he misses you, and you're like a human ray of sunshine."

Tara made kissing noises. "I love you too, you big lug."

"Goodbye, Tara!" he said. Then, quieter, "Bye, babe. Talk later."

She said her goodbyes and hung up, then smacked Tara across the head with a pillow.

"Ow!" she cried. "Bitch! Please, that was funny as hell!"

"Let's save the _going down on your best friend in the middle of a phone call_ jokes for after Opie and I've been together longer than twenty-four hours."

Tara grinned and crossed her legs, her back propped against the headboard and the pillow in her lap. "I think he took it well, considering."

"He's known us all his life. He's wise to our tricks." A silence fell while Olivia studied her best friend. There were new lines on her forehead; around her mouth; and she held her head differently than Olivia had seen before.

Olivia knew the look, even if it were new to Tara: she was scared. Scared of Kohn. He'd found her in Charming but so far hadn't made a move, and at this point she probably wished he would.

"So. Real talk, Dr. Knowles: how are you?"

Her chin dropped and she picked at the pillowcase. "Not—super great. He keeps calling. He usually doesn't leave a message, but his number's private. He's the only private number that calls me."

Olivia tangled her fingers with Tara's and squeezed. "You need to tell Jax."

"Opie and Juice know, and as far as I'm concerned that's _plenty_ of SAMCRO in my business."

"Jax is different, Tara. You know that. And Kohn's a Fed; don't you think the club would want to know if a Fed's sniffing around Charming?"

Tara slumped forward and scrubbed both hands over her face. "You know Jax's ex is pregnant?"

"Yeah," she said, quietly. "He told me a while ago."

"Why is this my life, Ollie? Back in Charming, on the run from a psycho, debating whether or not I should—"

"Get Jax involved," she said when Tara broke off. "Right? Not get involved with Jax, but get Jax involved."

"Right," Tara said on a breath.

"Tara Grace."

"Right!" she said again, more firmly.

Olivia sighed and ran a comforting hand up and down Tara's back. "I know it's tempting to go there again. Things are crazy and scary, and if nothing else at least he's familiar. The problems he comes with are familiar."

Tara cast a look over her shoulder. "Like you and Juice."

Olivia went still, and the only sign of her agitation was a slight tremble of her lower lip. "Yeah," she finally said, "like Juice and me."

Twisting toward her, Tara gave her face long, careful study. "But you don't still love him."

"I love Opie."

"I know you do, babe. That's not what I asked." Her voice was gentle but firm, and Olivia opened her mouth for the blithe lie: _of course not don't be silly!_

But nothing came out. Instead she just sat there, jaw hanging. She snapped it shut again and pressed a hand to her lips. "I love Opie," she finally said.

"Olivia! You're still in love with Juice!?"

"No! No. I don't even _know_ Juice anymore. And we're both with other people!"

"And you love Opie."

"I do!"

Tara touched Olivia's knee. "I know, Oll. It's obvious to anyone who's known you longer than five seconds. I'm glad you two aren't trying to keep this a secret or anything." She paused and her eyes narrowed. "Does Opie know?"

Olivia's mouth quirked and her face softened. "I think Opie knows more about how I feel than I do. We don't talk about Juice much, but yeah. I'm sure he knows."

"What will you do?" Tara said after a moment.

Surprised, Olivia's eyes snapped up to meet Tara's. "Do?" She blinked. "Nothing. Juice is my past. We've both moved on. He's the first person I ever loved, so of course there're some leftover feelings there. That's just _life_. There's no reason to fuck up something potentially amazing with Opie."

"Makes sense," Tara said. "So maybe quit bugging me about Jax; he's _my_ past too."

"Okay," Olivia said, mildly.

Tara glared at her, and Olivia lifted her hands in surrender.

"I'm not arguing with you, Tara. I get why you don't want to be with Jax. I get why you don't want the club part of your life." A line appeared between her brows. "I don't particularly relish the club in _my_ life, either."

"So you fall in love with the heir apparent's best friend."

"It wasn't exactly on purpose."

Tara brushed Olivia's hair off her face and offered a reassuring smile. "We're badass bitches, Olivia Jameson. If anyone can take what these men are throwin' our way, it's us."

"That means Kohn too. You know that, right?"

Her mouth went tense and the smile faded. "I know," she said, but she sounded far less sure than before.

Olivia pulled her close and pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I'm gonna hit the shower, then we'll grab some lunch and go for cupcakes. Okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm not on till four, so that sounds perfect."

"Cool," she said as she hopped out of bed. "Hang out here. Take a nap if you want. _Mi casa_ and all that."

The bathroom door closed behind her and Tara curled up around the pillow she held. She didn't like lying to Olivia. Anyone, but Olivia most of all. But…she didn't want her to worry. Or go to Jax, which she might do if she thought the situation had gotten serious enough. Besides, it might not even've been him. There were a lot of…tall…gray-haired men in California. Right?

Except she knew it was. He'd been across the street, going into a bookstore, but Tara knew it was him. Now she felt the same knots in her stomach and frantic kick of her pulse she had that day, and she tried to steady her breathing.

It was fine. Okay, he was in Charming, but he hadn't made a move on her yet. Opie and Juice had been keeping an eye on her place as best they could, and now that Olivia was back in town, if she had to Tara could come crash at her place.

And intrude on the honeymoon phase she and Opie were bound to be in for the next…however long. They could always go to Opie's, and she knew neither of them would mind.

Tara was getting ahead of herself. Kohn hadn't made a move so far, and there was no guarantee he would. Maybe he was just checking in on her or something, and once he saw that she had a new life in Charming: house, job, friends; he'd get lost again.

She could hope, anyway.

* * *

After dropping Tara off to get her car, Olivia headed for TM. She needed Gemma to get her back on the schedule, and she wanted to surprise the guys. A grin curved her mouth as she thought of the two huge bakery boxes in the trunk. Bikers eating cupcakes. More incongruous things had happened, she was sure, but she couldn't think of any just then.

Her usual parking spot was empty, she saw with some surprise, and she pulled in and cut the engine. She'd had the music cranked, and at the sudden quiet she felt her shoulders relax. She still sat with her hands on the wheel and her eyes far away when there was a knock on the window.

"Olivia?"

She looked up and grinned. Sack. She motioned for him to step back and opened the door. "Hey," she said. "Sorry. Guess I zoned out a little."

"Yeah, no problem. Welcome back! Ope said the show was real awesome."

"It was," she said. "Glad to be home though." She tilted her head toward the trunk. "Think you could help me carry a few things?"

"Sure, no problem. Open 'er up." His eyes widened when he saw the bakery's stamp on the boxes. "Are these from that new place in town?"

"Yup. Heard they were a big hit the other day."

He made a face. "I wouldn't know. Prospect means bottom of the cupcake totem pole, I guess: the guys ate 'em all before I got one."

Olivia bit her lip around a smile and opened the top box. Grabbed a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing and passed it to him, a finger pressed to her lips. "Don't tell. It'll be our little secret."

"Shit, Oll, you don't gotta do that! I was mostly kiddin' anyway."

She shrugged and stacked the boxes in his arms. "We gingers gotta stick together, right?"

A grin and a blush lit up his face. "I think it's actually more brown than red," he said, sheepishly.

"Ohhhh," she said. "Well give it back, then!" She reached for him, but he dodged a little.

"Nah, hey, it's good. It's good! Thanks, Ollie. I won't tell anybody; Tig'd probably steal it."

"Probably," she said over her shoulder. They headed toward the clubhouse, and Olivia tried to count the bikes without making it obvious. "Hey, um. Is Ope around?"

"Nah," Sack said. "A bunch of the guys had some shit to take care of. I think they'll be back soon." He paused. "Juice's here."

"That's nice," she said, mildly. She wasn't sure how much guys like Sack knew about the history between her and Juice (besides that they used to be a thing), and she wasn't really interested in having the club in her private life. She held the door open for him and followed him inside, then waved toward the bar. "Leave them there. I'm sure cupcake radar will activate soon enough."

As though summoned, Juice appeared from his computer nook. "Cupcakes?"

"Told you," she said.

"I gotta get back to work," Sack said, darting a look from Juice to Olivia and back again. "Thanks for the cupcake."

"Sure. Thanks for the help carrying them."

"Yeah, no problem." He gave Juice a nod and scurried out, and Olivia watched him go with an amused shake of his head.

"You guys really have the fear of God in that poor kid."

Juice hitched a shoulder. "I was the same way, and I knew everybody. It's a prospect's lot in life."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so." They fell quiet, and she took a moment to study him. He looked the same. And why shouldn't he? It'd been less than two months. They were both seeing other people, and they hadn't spoken much, but he was still the same Juice.

"You look good," he said before she could. "Seems like New York suits you."

"Hhmm. I don't know about that—but thanks. How're things in ol' Charming town?"

He hitched a shoulder. "You know. Same as it ever was. We're all glad you're back, though."

Her mouth curved, briefly, but all she said was "Mmhhmm." She crossed behind the bar and made a big show of studying the beer fridge. "Want something to drink?"

"You really bought cupcakes?"

She pointed at the bakery boxes. "Knock yourself out."

She heard the sound of cardboard, then, around a mouthful of cake, "I think there's milk in that one over there."

Trying to muffle a laugh, she went searching for it. She grabbed a highball glass and poured some in before she passed it to him. "Pace yourself, Ortiz," she said with a grin. "It's heady stuff if you're not used to it."

He slid up on a stool and she propped her elbows on the bar. "You don't want one?" he said.

"Tara and I had some earlier. I'm cupcake-d out for the moment."

"Man," he said. He licked icing off his thumb and his eyes turned far away. "I can't imagine that. Cupcake-d out. I could eat cupcakes all day, I think. Hey, did they have any of the maple bacon ones?"

"Check the other box. I got a couple. Sounded like something you would like."

He snatched one before he was done with the banana pudding he was already eating. "This was real nice, Liv. Thanks."

She shrugged. "I was there. They looked good. Opie mentioned how much you guys enjoyed them the other day."

He took a sip of milk and cleared his throat. "How's that goin'? You and Ope?"

Her brow furrowed as she topped him off. "You really wanna know?"

"Well…" He ducked his head and slowly peeled the wrapper off his second cupcake. "I don't want _details_, but, I mean…I care that you're…happy and doin' good." His eyes flicked to her face. "You seem happy. Relaxed, I guess."

Maybe more relaxed than he'd seen her since she'd been back, but then around him she tended to be tense. He hadn't been lying when he said she looked good. That first glimpse had been a little like a punch to the gut, and he was glad Half-Sack had been here. How could he have forgotten in less than two months how beautiful she was?

He hadn't. He just…spent a lot of time choosing not to remember.

"Well. Since you asked. Things are fine. What _things_ there are," she said, interrupting his train of thought. "I've barely been back a full day, though, so…" She lifted her hand in a shrug as she trailed off, but he wasn't fooled.

He really _didn't_ want details, though, so he just nodded. "That's good," he said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then changed his mind and went back to his cupcake.

She poured a small glass of milk for herself and sipped as she watched him. Her conversation with Tara echoed in her mind, and she…she wanted to forget. Forget how she'd once felt about him. Pretend she didn't feel anything more now than just nostalgia and tentative friendship.

"How's Yvonne?" she said, her tone too bright.

It seemed to catch him off guard, and for a moment he looked blank. Then he blinked and caught up. "Oh. She's great. You know. It's all…great."

"Good," she said. They both chose to ignore how he seemed to be trying harder to convince himself than her. New relationships were always tricky, and she was sure he and Yvonne were just in that awkward stage. They would settle in soon enough.

There was the sound of bikes in the lot, and they both looked that way.

"Guess they're back," Juice said.

"Better get what you want now, before the locusts descend."

For a split second he just stared at her. Get what he wanted? "Oh!" he said. "Yeah. I guess…another maple bacon for the road."

She smothered a laugh in her glass as she finished off her milk. "Smooth, Ortiz," she said, grinning.

"Bite me," he said.

"Hhmm. You wish."

The door opened, saving him from having to reply, and the loud, raucous sound of male laughter filled the clubhouse. Chibs finished a joke with a truly _filthy_ punchline, and Tig clapped him hard on the back as they guffawed.

"Charming," Olivia murmured to Juice. "The wild biker in its natural habitat."

He gave her a half-smile, then watched her face transform. She wasn't looking at him anymore. Her eyes were trained on the door, and she'd gone from droll amusement to…big, shining eyes and brilliant grin, full-on dimples and everything.

His heart stopped, then kicked to life again, hard and stuttering. Jesus. She used to look at him just like that. He turned his head to follow her gaze and—Opie. Of course.

He let out a long breath. She could say anything she wanted: Juice could see the truth written on her face in flashing neon. She loved him. Like, really, genuinely loved him. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest to try to rub away the ache there, but it was no good.

"I'll see ya later, Liv," he said, quietly.

"Hmm? Oh. Sure, Juice. Enjoy the cupcakes."

It was polite, distant. The way she might talk to an acquaintance. He slid off the stool and headed back to his cubby, and Tig stopped him on the way to try to steal his food. He dodged him and sent him toward the bar, and the guys greeted Olivia with varying degrees of enthusiasm and profanity.

The only voice Juice didn't hear was Opie's. He glanced back to see him leaning against the bar watching her as she talked to the guys. They were throwing questions at her—New York, the show, her flight—and shoving cupcakes into their mouths, but Opie just stood there. He didn't go for the bakery boxes and he didn't say anything.

Juice recognized the look on Opie's face as well as he'd recognized the one on Olivia's: Juice had seen it in the mirror countless times when they'd been together, a sort of stunned awe that she was _his_. With _him_. Of all the assholes on the planet, she'd chosen _him_.

His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. Well. He'd always said he just wanted her to be happy. If Opie could make her smile like that, and look at her the way he was now…then Juice figured she must've found it. Another chance. The chance he'd thrown away because she'd hurt his pride and he was a childish idiot.

_Take care of her, brother_, he thought as he turned away. She deserved it.

She deserved everything.

* * *

_Poor Juicykins. I think he'll be okay tho._

_Also upcoming chapters will feature a bit more to do with Tara, since she's dealing w the whole Kohn thing._

_I think updates might be a little faster again? for some reason this chapter really stumped me. Then I ended up writing 3/4 of it in one sitting sooooo *shrug*_


	21. Earthquake Weather

Let's check in on some of our other friends around Charming town, shall we?

Thanks as always for your comments and reviews. :) They delight me.

* * *

**scared dogs will bite  
****and cowards cut and run**  
**and sun, it burns your skin**  
**it comes natural to be so cruel**  
**to be an asshole to someone as good as you**  
Matt Nathanson, "Earthquake Weather"

Life settled into a rhythm after that. Olivia was back in Charming, home, and she still worked at TM. The guys gave her shit about being a big New York City artist now, and too good for them, but she took it all in stride and gave as good as she got. Gemma, too, made some noise: would Olivia be leaving them again? Maybe moving to New York permanently?

Olivia mostly ignored that. She didn't have much time for Gemma being Gemma.

Juice was glad she was so happy. She laughed maybe more than he'd ever seen, and there seemed to be a sort of glow around her, like an aura of contentment.

Her work. Opie. Being in the same town as Tara again.

Juice couldn't help but wonder if he added to or detracted from her current mood. He tried staying away from her after their encounter over cupcakes and milk, but she wasn't having it. She would track him down. Drag him out of his computer cubby and over to the garage. They would talk while she worked, her about a new project idea or something she was working on in her house, him about…nothing. Until she started peppering him with questions he couldn't dodge, and then he became the chatterbox.

They never talked about Opie or Yvonne. They didn't purposefully avoid the topic, but they'd known each other so long that they could each steer the conversation without too much trouble or attention. An outsider would never know something was missing.

But Juice knew. She saw through him like a goddamn pane of glass, and every time he mentioned Yvonne she got this _look_ like she knew exactly what he was thinking and exactly how honest he was being.

Not very.

Technically they weren't living together; Yvonne still had her own place in Stockton; but she spent most nights at Juice's. When he got home that night, about three weeks after Olivia's return from New York, Yvonne's car was in the driveway and the house smelled like spices and frying things.

"Hey, babe," he called as he hung his kutte on the coatrack. "Somethin' smells amazing."

She appeared from the kitchen, spatula in hand, and flashed him her big grin. "Empanadas. They'll be ready soon."

"Awesome," he said. He stepped closer for a kiss, but she leaned back and waved him away, her nose wrinkling.

"You smell terrible! What have you been doing?"

"Oh." He made a face. "Long story."

_Digging up a dead body and leaving it like a present…_

Maybe something he could've told Olivia, but not Yvonne. She liked the status of being involved with a Son, but she didn't like all the mess that the club came with. He tried to keep her separate from it, partially because he didn't want the guys to think she was his old lady (he wasn't ready for all that yet), but also because he didn't want her involved in the illegal side of things. Even so far as knowing about it.

"Go take a shower before dinner," she said. "I'll hold it for you."

"Thanks," he said. "Probably a good idea."

"You'll spoil everyone's appetite like that." She gave his ass a light smack with the spatula. "Too bad I've got hot grease on the stove. I'd join you."

He tossed a grin over his shoulder. "I don't know," he said, his tone teasing. "After what happened last time…"

"That was an accident! And your fault!" she said, trying to look stern even as she giggled.

"My fault? How was it _my_ fault? You knocked the shampoo off—your shampoo I don't use shampoo—and then I tripped over it, and then—"

She was full-on laughing at the memory, but she waved the spatula to shut him enough. "Enough, enough! I remember what happened! I walked funny for a week."

He winked at her, his grin bigger than ever. "Play your cards right maybe you'll walk funny all this week, too."

"Hhmm," she said, low and thoughtful. "But not because you drop me in the shower, I hope."

"Nahh." He sidled closer, but she waved a hand to stop him. He reached for his belt; his smile turned wicked. "I could show you—"

"Juan Carlos!" she said with a shriek of laughter. "Do not get your dick out in the living room! Shower!"

"Alright, I'm going. Maybe after dinner, though?"

Her head tilted as she pretended to think it over. "Deal. Now hurry, Juan Carlos!"

She almost always called him _Juan Carlos_, rarely ever _Juice_, and never just _Ortiz_. Which was fine. Yvonne was Ecuadorian, and she despaired of ever teaching him Spanish, but she enjoyed pronouncing his name in her accent—and he had to admit he liked hearing it. He liked how she spoke Spanish in bed and cooked him amazing food and was there when he got home. He liked that they didn't fight and things were just _easy_.

So different from Olivia. Peaceful.

Why was he even thinking about Olivia? He had a gorgeous woman in his kitchen cooking him dinner and promising him sex and he was thinking about Olivia.

"You're a fuckin' moron, Ortiz," he told himself as he started the water. "And if you're not careful you're gonna fuck this all up."

He showered fast and got dressed, then shoved his old clothes in the washer; they'd stink up the entire hamper like they were, and he wanted all memory of today's grave robbing shenanigans _gone_.

He passed through the living room on his way to the kitchen and paused. Something was different. His eyes narrowed as he did a survey of the room, and when he got to the low shelf by the doorway he stopped short.

"Yvonne!" he called. "Hey, babe?"

She poked her head out of the kitchen and made a face at him. "What? I'm busy."

"Nothin', it's just—where's that sculpture? The one that's usually on the shelf over there?"

Her scowl deepened and she disappeared back into the kitchen. Juice frowned and followed her.

"Yvonne?" he said again. "Seriously, where is it? Did you just move it?"

"It's on the back porch," she said, stabbing at the empanadas floating in the grease like they'd personally insulted her.

"The back—? Yvonne! It's metal! It could rust out there!"

"It hasn't rained in over a week, Juan Carlos. Calm down. I don't understand why you like it so much anyway. It's a big pile of junk. It's ugly!"

He stared at her, his jaw hanging open. "It's not—it's not _ugly_. It's…" He cleared his throat and looked away. "Besides, a friend made it."

"_Sí_, I know exactly which _friend_ made that thing, and I don't much like having it in my house."

His jaw clenched, but when he spoke again he tried to keep his tone even. "It's not _your_ house, Yvonne. It's mine. You don't like the sculpture, fine. We can talk about it. But don't just move my stuff around without asking me. Especially somethin' like that."

Her voice followed him through the kitchen to the deck: "The only reason you have that ugly thing is because _she_ made it! It's not even _art_, Juan Carlos! It's junk!"

He went still when he saw it. It listed to the left, and two of the metal bars dangled oddly. "What the fuck happened? It's broken!"

She glared at him from the doorway, one hand on her hip. "I hit it with the vacuum cleaner! It was an accident, I swear. But what does it matter? You can hardly tell the difference!"

He spun on her with fury in his eyes, and she fell back. "It matters because it's _mine_!" he said. "Why were you vacuuming anyway? Since when does the place need vacuuming?"

Juice kept his house immaculate; always had; and sometimes Yvonne even complained that there was nothing for her to clean. He always told her not to be silly—he wanted a girlfriend, not a maid—but she still insisted on dusting (non-existent dust) and straightening (already straightened) things from time to time. He'd asked her not to move anything, because he was very particular about it, and she respected that. Until now, it would seem.

"I spilled something and needed to clean it up," she said in a sulky voice. "I didn't mean to hurt your precious _sculpture_. I'm sorry, Juan Carlos."

"Goddammit, Yvonne!" He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She didn't _sound_ particularly sorry, but yelling at her was pointless and made him feel like an asshole.

"Whatever," he said. "If it was an accident it was an accident. I just wish you'd told me." He frowned and rubbed a hand over his scalp. "Maybe I can get Liv to take a look at it; she might be able to fix it."

"Of course she can," Yvonne muttered before she turned and stomped away.

He followed her and shut the sliding glass door behind him so hard she jumped. "What the fuck does that mean?" he said.

"Nothing." She fished the nearly burnt empanadas out of the pan and set them on a paper towel. "I know you're dying for an excuse to talk to your _preciosa_ Olivia."

"What the hell, Yvonne? If you've got somethin' to say, just do it," he said as his brows drew together.

"I don't. It's nothing." She messed with the empanadas a minute before she slammed the spatula down on the counter and jerked around to face him. "How much time do you spend with her, Juan Carlos? How much time do you spend watching over Tara because Olivia _asked_ you to? Does Jax even know you do that? Don't you think he'd _like_ to know?"

"It's none of Jax's business! And it's not really any of yours, either. Am I takin' time away from you to keep an eye on Tara? Do I spend time with Olivia instead of with you? No! So what the fuck does it matter?"

She sighed and slumped back against the counter, her arms around her middle. When she spoke again she sounded sad and tired rather than angry. "You're here. You're here right now, standing in front of me. I thought it would get better. I thought you would—get over her, move along. But _she's_ all you think about! Always! _Her_ sculpture, _her_ best friend, conversations you had with _her_! She calls you from New York, crack of dawn, and you jump! She could probably call right now with a—with—the paper, it slices—and you would go!"

"A paper cut?" he said with a confused frown.

"_Sí_, paper cut! Don't you laugh at me!"

He held up his hands. "I'm not laughin', sweetheart, I swear." He sighed and shuffled closer. "Yvonne, baby, I'm with _you_. Not Olivia. She's the first girl I ever loved, so yeah—I think about her. I worry about her. She's had a lot of shit in her life. I just wanna make sure she's happy."

"She _has_ an old man now, Juan Carlos, and it's not you! Maybe let _Opie_ worry about her, and you worry about _me_!"

He rested his hands on her hips and tugged her against him. She came, reluctantly, and he put on his most contrite face, including the big puppy dog eyes. "I'm tryin'. I really am. You don't want me to hang out with her anymore, I won't."

She huffed out a breath and ran both hands up his chest. "No, _bombon_, I'm not saying that. I know she's your friend. I just worry you love her more than me." She stuck her lower lip out in a pout and blinked up at him. "And you _do_ love me, don't you?"

"Yeah, Yvonne," he said, easily. "Of course I do."

She kissed his neck and tilted her head thoughtfully. "You should make me your old lady, Juan Carlos. Officially! That way everyone will know. She'll stop _looking_ at you."

He scowled and stepped away. "Olivia doesn't _look_ at me. She looks at Opie. Her eyes are entirely on him."

"Hmmph," she said. "Seems that idea bothers you more than it should for a man who claims to love _me_!"

"Jesus." He scrubbed both hands over his face. "I can't deal with this jealousy bullshit, Yvonne. You know how I feel about you. You know it's long over between Liv and me."

"_Liv_," she echoed with a snort.

"It's just a nickname for fuck's sake! It doesn't mean anything!" He shook his head. "I don't know what else I can do here, babe. Olivia's not part of my life like that anymore, but she _is_ still part of my life—and probably always will be. I thought you understood that."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "I _do_ understand, Juan Carlos. Believe it or not, I do. But understanding it and living with it are two different things.

"What I _don't_ understand is why you won't let me close to you. We have good times, don't we? We laugh and we take care of each other, and the sex is good. But there's still this wall here." She made a gesture between them. "I want the wall gone. I want to be close. She's here, right here, and she always is. I want _you_, _amor_. I want us to be _real_."

"We _are_ real, babe. How can I prove that to you? What can I do?"

If he sounded desperate, he didn't care; he absolutely didn't want to have this conversation. He tried not to look too hard at his feelings for Yvonne, or his feelings for Olivia, and he'd sort of been waiting for her to call him on it. All of it. Because she was right: he was holding back from her, and he didn't know how to do anything different.

"You could ask me to move in," Yvonne said, interrupting his train of thought. "Take me to club things."

"I took you to that party just last month!"

"_Sí_, before _she_ got back from New York!"

"There haven't been any parties since then. Next one, we'll go. You and me. Wear that pretty blue dress with the necklace I got you for your birthday and you'll be the best looking girl there. I'll show you off to everybody!"

"Fine, fine," she said with a wave of her hand. "One party. Big deal. I want to be your old lady, Juan Carlos! Until then I'm barely anything more than a crow eater!"

He scowled. They'd been having the "old lady" discussion more and more lately, and he knew he'd have to make a decision soon. But an old lady was a big deal. It meant being on Gemma's radar (more than she already was) and getting involved in club things like the charity runs and the social events. He wasn't sure he wanted that. He wasn't sure he wanted someone _representing_ him the same way…well. None of them really had official old ladies now that Jax and Wendy had split, and Olivia refused the title and everything that came with it.

"You're not a crow eater, Yvonne," he said, quietly. "You never have been. If I make you feel like that, I'm sorry. We've talked about the old lady thing. I told you I wasn't ready for such a big step and you said you were okay. Doesn't really _seem_ like you're okay, but that's what you said."

He drew in a long breath. "I'm not in love with Olivia. It's you and me, babe, not her and me. I'd never put her before you."

"Tell me you love me," she said in a small voice.

"I love you, sweetheart," he said, no hesitation, and she shook her head.

"I don't think I believe you."

His chin dropped to his chest and he shook his head. "Fine," he said. "I don't know what else to say. I don't know how else to reassure you. I'm not makin' you my old lady; not like this. You can't hold it over my head like I gotta do it to prove how I feel. That's not the right way."

She didn't say anything, but the look on her face spoke volumes.

He headed toward the front door to get his boots and his kutte. "I think I'm gonna crash at the clubhouse tonight."

"With a crow eater?" Yvonne said as she followed him.

"No!" He turned around fast, his voice like a whip. "No, Yvonne, not with a goddamn crow eater! I got no intention of messin' around with some other girl. I don't buy into that whole _on a run_ bullshit, or _what happens in the clubhouse_. If I'm with you I'm _with_ you. I thought you knew that!"

"I do! But you're mad, and I'm acting like a jealous _puta_."

"So I'm supposed to go out and fuck some other girl?" he said, throwing his hand out in an incredulous sort of shrug.

"It's what most men would do."

He ground out a frustrated sigh. "You bitch about how I can't get over Olivia, but you seem to have the same problem with Jorge. I'm not him. I don't cheat and I don't hit. Ever."

"All men do!" she said. "It's just a matter of time."

He gritted his teeth and yanked his boots on without bothering to tie them. Shrugged into his kutte and grabbed his keys off the table. "If that's what you think of me," he said without looking at her, "then you should probably pack your shit and leave now. I'm not that guy. I'll never be that guy. If he's who you want then go find him somewhere else."

With that he stormed out of the house and toward his bike, and as he sped toward TM he wondered how the fuck they'd gone from a great night of empanadas and sex to a huge fight and him sleeping at the clubhouse. Alone.

* * *

Tara hadn't been avoiding Olivia. Not exactly. Just—Olivia's insight where Tara was concerned (and vice versa, for that matter) could be particularly penetrating, and Tara didn't want her to know how bothered she was by Kohn's long-distance harassment. She tried to play it off as no big deal, but she knew Olivia wasn't fooled.

Tara needed her to be fooled.

Olivia was almost sickeningly happy these days, what with her art career taking off and her new relationship with Opie. Tara didn't want to fuck that up for her. She didn't want Olivia worrying, or doing something stupid like…confronting Kohn or going to Jax.

Which she might. If she knew how bad things had gotten. If she knew that Tara seemed to see Kohn in every crowd (even though he couldn't possibly be there) or that her heart stopped whenever elevator doors opened or that she dreaded her ringing phone. She'd changed her number at Olivia and Donna's _strong_ urging, but he'd found it again. Much faster than made her comfortable.

She hadn't told anyone that part.

April was turning into May. Jax' twenty-ninth birthday had come and gone and Tara hadn't so much as sent him a card. She wanted him to know she wasn't back in Charming for _him_, and mixed signals didn't help anyone. He had his MC and his crow eaters and his junkie ex-wife with the baby on the way. Tara didn't need his bullshit in her life.

She'd heard through the MC grapevine (read: Opie, because as hard as she might be avoiding Olivia, Opie and Juice still had eyes on her) that there was some ATF agent in town making trouble. Stahl. Tara hadn't met her, and she hoped she wouldn't have to. She was doing well in Charming; had made a real place for herself at St. Thomas; and the last thing she wanted was to have some Fed sniffing around making noise about her past.

Especially since Feds always seemed like cockroaches: where you had one you had dozens, and the FBI and ATF worked together more closely than ever now that they were both under the Homeland Security umbrella.

The odds of Kohn—who was technically assigned to the Chicago field office—getting drawn into a case against SAMCRO were thin, but Tara had never liked gambling. She didn't have the best luck, it seemed.

And so. The weeks passed in a sort of strange limbo: seeing Olivia just enough to keep her from making _too_ much noise about it. Vague, passing conversations with Opie or Juice when they managed to peel away from the club long enough to check up on her. Dodging phantom Kohns wherever she went. And never, ever quite settling into her own skin. Never feeling completely comfortable or at ease, because there was always _something_. Always some reminder that she was lying to herself and her best friend and two men she'd known for years, and all for no good reason.

The day had already been long when she got a page from OB: a premature infant with a serious heart condition and other complications. Consult requested.

She hurried to the NICU to find Dr. Grant already there. Tara joined him, and when he heard her footsteps he looked up from the tiny infant he was examining. "Dr. Knowles, welcome. We have a thirty week male presenting with CHD and gastroschisis. Mother came in already in labor due to an apparent drug overdose."

"What was she on?" Tara said as Dr. Grant stepped aside. She pressed her stethoscope gently against the baby's chest and frowned. His heart didn't sound good at all.

"Methamphetamine, we believe. Tox results aren't back yet." He gave her a look. "Your thoughts?"

She took a quick glance at his chart. "We need to get him stable, and then I think the heart needs to be our first goal. Fix that, get him stable _again_, then we can go after the abdomen."

"Excellent, Dr. Knowles. That's exactly what I was thinking. I was hoping you could scrub in to assist."

Tara stared at the baby's chart, a deep line forming between her brows, and she didn't hear what he said. Dr. Grant nudged her and she looked up. "What? I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

"I asked you to scrub in, but if you're tired—"

"No," she said. "No, I'm fine. Are you taking him in now?"

He shook his head. "In the morning, I think. Early. You'll have to push the MacArthur baby."

"The MacArthur baby doesn't stand a chance without a liver," she said, lowering her voice a little. "Until I get one everything else I'm doing is pointless."

"You've told the parents that?"

"Not in so many words, but yes."

"Hhhmm," he said. "Well. There's only so much you can do." He took the chart from her and gave the NICU nurse a series of rapid instructions. "For now let's concentrate on baby Teller."

She swallowed and hid her clenched fists behind her back. "Does he have a first name yet?"

"I don't believe so." He frowned. "His father's involved with SAMCRO from the look of things. Came in here earlier with a bunch of his leather-clad biker friends and then stormed out. The grandmother's still here, though. And of course the mother."

The grandmother. Gemma. The mother. Wendy. And the father—Jackson.

"What do you think the baby's chances are?" Tara said as they left NICU and headed toward the cafeteria.

"Twenty percent," he said with a shrug. "If I'm being kind. One or the other would be alright, but both? In a thirty weeker? I hate it, but…" He lifted his hands in a tired shrug.

Tara cleared her throat and pushed the button on the elevator. "I know the family. From when I lived here as a kid. Have you talked to them yet?"

He cast her a careful look. "I was going to wait until the father got back. Perhaps you'd care to join me?"

"Yeah. Yes. Thank you, Dr. Grant."

"You've shown real promise here, Dr. Knowles. You know I've been planning my retirement for a while now, but I haven't found another surgeon I felt could take my place." He paused and fixed her with a hard stare. "You might be that surgeon. Don't let personal feelings get in the way of caring for your patient."

Her brows drew together and her mouth firmed. "The _baby_ is my patient, and he's my priority. My personal feelings don't have anything to do with any of it."

"Good," he said, and patted her on the arm. "Then we should be just fine."

She wanted to save the baby because he was a baby, and every baby deserved a chance. The fact that he was Jax' baby, Jax' son…that was just extra incentive. For all that they'd barely spoken since she'd been back, and had parted on such rough terms, she didn't want Jax to suffer. She didn't want him to lose his son.

No one deserved that, not even the VP of a one percenter Motorcycle Club.

* * *

_I literally just rewatched the pilot like 2 hours before I wrote the second half of this, and I couldn't remember the other doctor's name. So I made that shit up._

_Oh, in the area of names: I called Kohn "Jeff" every time I mentioned his first name before, and...you know what? Fuck it. I like "Jeff" better than "Josh" anyway. So he gets a new name._

_Almost forgot: I've obviously reshuffled things, but I'm sort of working within SOME of the canon framework, but just doing my own thing with it._


	22. Higher

Nearly this entire chapter is nsfw, so. Proceed with caution. :)

Thanks for the reviews, m'loves. They're much appreciated.

* * *

**so come on get higher loosen my lips**  
**faith and desire and the swing of your hips**  
**just pull me down hard**  
**and drown me in love**  
Matt Nathanson, "Come On Get Higher"

Olivia made a sleepy little noise and shifted as he crawled into bed behind her and kissed her neck. "Tickles," she murmured. "Sasquatch."

"Sorry, baby," he said. He wrapped his arms around her middle and squeezed, and when a hand found her breast she made a different type of noise altogher.

"I'm tryin' to sleep here, Harry," she said, but she pressed her ass into him before she flipped over. She snuggled close and kissed him, nibbling and sucking at his lower lip before her tongue flicked against his. "Taste like beer."

"Yeah," he said. "I stayed after to have a couple with Jax."

She combed her fingers through his beard and kissed him again. "How is he? How's the baby?"

He played with her hair a while, his face pensive and drawn, and she gave him the time he needed to work it out. "He's…I don't know. Jax, ya know? Just sorta…there. He won't really talk about it. Says he don't know what to say."

"Sounds like Jax," she said, her brows flicking up as she rolled her eyes. "And Abel?"

Opie shrugged a shoulder and slid a hand under her shirt at the small of her back. "Doin' a little better, I guess. They got his heart fixed up, and next they're gonna work on his stomach. Man—that's some _shit_. Makes me almost glad I never had kids."

"Hhmm." Olivia nestled in and tucked her head under his chin. He was warm and familiar, his skin smooth beneath her cheek, and the steady drum of his heart was so soothing she almost dozed off again. Her eyes struggled open and she smothered a yawn.

"Tara said the stomach thing was from the drugs," she said, the haze lifting from her voice as she spoke. "The heart thing—well. That's a Teller for you. I guess you should be glad you never had kids with _Jax_."

She couldn't see him, but he made a face at her anyway. "That's lucky," he said. "I'll be sure to mention that to him." He skimmed his palm lower, to cup her ass, and she wiggled.

"What are you doing, Mr. Winston?"

He snorted out a laugh. "Gettin' fresh, Miz Gable. Why? You complainin'?"

"Nope." She kissed his neck and buried her nose in the curve of it to take a long breath. "Mmmm you smell good."

"Just got outta the shower. Didn't wanna get in bed smellin' like cigarettes and the clubhouse."

"So considerate." She pushed gently at his shoulder until he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so that she perched on top of him.

"How's Tara?" he said as he stroked her thighs. "She okay with bein' Abel's doctor?"

Olivia's brow scrunched, and she absently ran her hands up his bare chest. "She said she wants to be on Abel's case. I didn't think they allowed a doctor to work with a patient she knows personally—or, I guess in this case, a family she knows. But her boss trusts her, so." Her head tilted in a shrug, and Opie nodded.

"She's a good doctor. Jax is glad to have her." His face scrunched in the way that made her want to boop his nose. "I think."

She smiled a little. "You biker boys suffer from a terrible case of emotional constipation."

He laughed so hard she nearly fell off, and he grabbed her hips as she started to slip. "You're such a goddamn lady, Gable."

"You want a lady go find one. You've never had a problem with my mouth before."

He rolled them again, cradling her head in his hand and pressing his leg between her thighs. "Ain't got a problem with your mouth _now_," he said on a growl, and she shivered as he bit at her lips.

"What's this, love?" she said. She slid her hand between them and squeezed his erection. "Is that for me?"

"Every inch," he said, kissing down the side of her throat. "You want it, baby?"

"You know I do," she breathed. "I want this." She squeezed again. "I want _you_. I want whatever you give me."

He stared down at her with wide eyes, and a surge of love and lust swamped through him so strong it left him shaking. The things he wanted to do to her Jesus Christ—!

"Ollie—" He jerked away, a little frightened of himself, and she frowned. Without giving her a chance to say anything or pull him back, he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, both hands fisted in his hair.

She stared at his bent back and reached out a tentative hand. "Opie? Sweetheart, what is it? Talk to me. Whatever it is, I'm listening."

"Oll, Jesus…I just…I don't wanna hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Her brow furrowed at the absurdity of it. "Ope, you could never—"

"I mean _physically_," he said, twisting toward her. He sounded…almost angry, but she thought it was directed at himself and not her. "You're so small, babe, and I'm so—" A frustrated flick of his fingers, and she caught his hand in hers.

"So what? Big?" She crawled around in front of him and pushed him back into the headboard. "Sexy?" she said, climbing into his lap. "_Mine_?"

"Fuck," he whispered. He caught her hips in his hands and kneaded hard, and her body moved in a sinuous, hungry roll. "You like that?" he said, his voice rough.

"Yeah, Ope. I love it." She smiled and tapped a finger against the center of his chest. "I'm small, but I'm not delicate." Her mouth twisted when she thought of her bad hip. "Okay, a _little_ delicate, but…I don't think you'll break me. You haven't so far."

His chin dropped to his chest, and his expression was sheepish. "I've been holdin' back so far. Tryin' to be, you know…easy, like. I didn't wanna hurt you or scare you off."

"Oh," she said.

They'd been together a little over three weeks now, closing in on a month, and so far the sex had been great. _Really_ great. Lots and lots of oral, which Olivia definitely wasn't complaining about, but she'd had a sense there was something like this conversation brewing. Opie enjoyed what they did together; that was obvious; but from very early on she'd been able to tell he wasn't quite as _there_ as she was.

Not that he was zoned out or thinking of something else—just that he was concentrating part of his mind on something other than fucking her. Now she knew what it was, and she relaxed a little.

She swallowed and settled herself more comfortably in his lap. She loved straddling him like this: his body was so big, and it gave her an ache low in her pelvis and through her hips. A good ache. Not like the usual accident-reminder pain she lived with most days.

"You want to be rougher," she said.

Color flamed across his cheeks, but when he tried to duck his head she pulled him up by the beard.

"How rough? Are we talking whips and chains—"

"Jesus, Oll, no! Nothin' like that!" he said. "Not _that_ rough."

She let out a breath. That was a relief. She was open-minded, and into a lot of different things, but hardcore BDSM or any sort of formal Dom/sub situation had never really been high on her list of kinks.

On the other hand, she wasn't averse to having her pleasure spiked with a bit of pain. A sharp thrill amidst the softness, like the prick of a thorn on a rose stem.

"So more like…hard fucking?"

He nodded.

Her mouth curved when he blushed. This could be fun. "Holding me down while you fuck me? Pinning my wrists above my head with your hands?"

Another nod, this time accompanied by a firm squeeze to her thighs.

"Bending me over things and fucking me from behind?" she said, her voice going low as she traced her tongue around the curve of his ear. "Making me scream with your fat cock?"

"God, Ollie," he said. "Yeah. Fuck yeah."

"Spanking?" she said, and bit his earlobe.

"Yes!" His head fell back on a low moan. "I wanna spank you till your sexy round ass is all red with my handprints. Fuck, Oll, I'm so sorry. I wanna bite you and leave marks on your skin. I wanna look at you when I get you naked and see myself all over you. I know it's not right, and I know it's not what you want—"

"Opie," she said. "You didn't _ask_ what I want. I love the way you've been so far. I love how gentle it's been, and how sweet. I like that kind of sex a lot." Her grin turned wicked and she bit his neck, hard. She took his hand and guided it between her thighs. "Feel how wet I am for you, baby. How wet I am at the idea of you spanking me and holding me down and fucking me until I scream. I like sweet, gentle sex, and I like hard, rough sex. I like being on top of you and underneath you and on my knees in front of you. I _love_ sitting on your face."

He flashed a half-smile. "I know you do," he said. His expression stilled and he tucked her hair behind her ear. "You'd really be into it?"

"God yes," she said with a laugh. "I'd be _so_ fucking into it. I trust you, Harry; now I need you to trust me."

"Trust you how?" he said, the worry line forming between his brows.

She smoothed it with her thumb and kissed the spot. "Trust me to stop you if it gets too much. Trust me to know my limits. Can you do that?"

He cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her, his lips brushing over hers soft as a whisper. "Yeah, babe. I can do that."

"Okay," she said. He kissed her again, more roughly. She shivered at the feel of his mouth and the tickle from his beard, the warmth of his breath and the sharp nick of his teeth.

He gave her a smack on the ass that made her jump, and she bit her lip around a grin. She pulled her t-shirt off and tossed it away and ran both hands up her body to cup her breasts. "Whatever you want, Opie. Anything you want. I'm all yours."

"Yeah?" he said. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them. "Anything?"

The rasp of his voice made her eyes go wide, and he loomed over her, big and solid. He had been on top of her many times in the last three weeks, but this was the first time she felt the sheer _size_ of him, their more than one foot height difference and hundred pound weight difference.

"Anything, Harry," she said on a breath. "I trust you."

He grinned and braced his weight on his arms, like he might be about to do a pushup. "Turn over," he said in her ear.

She did so slowly, taking her time about it, and he sank his teeth into her shoulder blade. Her body arched, and he kissed his way down her back, licking and biting and sucking as he went. His touch didn't have the gentleness and caution she'd gotten used to, and every time she felt the pinch of teeth she moaned.

"You like that, Ollie baby?" he said, biting harder.

"Yes! Yeah, yes, I love it!"

"I'm markin' up your pretty white skin, sweetheart." He went back and kissed all the spots he'd bitten; lathed his tongue over them. "These'll be here a day or two."

"Good!" she said. "Good. I want them. Don't stop, Opie. Please don't stop."

He groaned and tugged her panties down just far enough to bare her ass. He bit her there, too, digging his teeth in and sucking hard, before he trailed his tongue between her cheeks over and over while she wiggled and whimpered.

He dropped his forehead to rest against her and took a gulping, panting breath. "God, baby, fuck, I wanna eat you so bad."

"I'm so wet for you, Opie," she said between gasps. "I need to feel you; I need you to make me come!"

He shuddered and sat up. Gave her ass a sharp little smack just to hear the noise she made. She ground her hips into the bed and he clicked his tongue. "Be still," he said, spanking her again, harder.

"Opie!" she moaned.

"You do like that, don't you?" he said with another firm smack.

"Mmmm yes I do, so much!"

"Sweet little Ollie," he said, kneading her ass with both hands. "Not nearly as innocent as you look, are you?"

She cast a sly glance over her shoulder. "Baby boy, I took your virginity in the back of your daddy's pickup in the middle of a thunderstorm. How innocent do I _look_, exactly?"

"Fuck," he said through gritted teeth. He spread her legs and bit and sucked his way from her knee up the inside of her thigh until he hit the bottom edge of her panties.

"I wanna eat you, but I'm not going to," he said. "Instead I'm going to lie you down on your back and fuck you till you scream." He grasped her hips to flip her over, and then hovered above her. "You're gonna come for me."

"Yeah, Ope, yes," she said, her eyes wide and pupils blown.

He grinned and reached for a condom. "That wasn't a question. Or a request." Handing her the package, he shoved his shorts down and tugged her panties off the rest of the way. She ripped it open and rolled the rubber down his cock, her lip caught between her teeth.

Her back hit the mattress as he pushed her down, and she let out a rough breath. "Please," she breathed. "God, please, need you so bad!"

He growled and slammed into her; her body arched on a groan. He pulled her legs up until they were draped across his shoulders, and that sent him so deep, so _fucking_ deep, that she gritted her teeth.

"Wait," she said. "Wait, gimme—"

"Am I hurting you, baby?" he murmured, a furrow of concern between his brows. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. "Don't wanna hurt you. Do I need to stop? Do somethin' different?"

"No," she said. "No, I just need—I need a sec—"

"Not until you're ready," he said. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, Oll. So hard and deep. You're gonna feel it in your bones, sweetheart. You're gonna beg me for more."

Her head fell back and she dug her nails into his ribs. "Now! Please, now!"

Their moans mingled as he pulled back and thrust in again. "Like that?" he said, his voice strained.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes yeah yes like that, fuck me so hard, please please please!"

"Goddamn, baby," he rasped.

She opened her eyes to watch him as he wrapped his hands around her shoulders from underneath and buried his face in her neck. She tangled one hand in his hair and pressed the other against the headboard, her body arching to meet every hard, rough thrust, her teeth dug into her lower lip, and her brow creased.

"Tell me how good I make you feel, Ollie. Tell me how much you love me and how much you love the way I fuck you."

Her mouth fell open and his name tumbled out in a mindless litany: "Opie, Opie, sweetheart, love, I love you so goddamn much. That's so good, just what I want, everything I want! You're so big, fuck fuck don't stop please please!"

"I love you, Ollie," he moaned. "God I love you so fucking much you feel so goddamn good your tight little cunt fuck you're so hot and wet for me!"

"Don't stop, just like that!" She tugged his hair and her whole body shook every time he slammed into her. It was good, so fucking good, just skirting the edge of pain in the way she craved without even knowing it, and a tiny part of her marveled that this was _Opie_. _Her_ Opie, gentle giant who always touched her with such _reverence_.

There was reverence here, but it was of a completely different kind.

"Fuck, baby, fuck not gonna last long you feel so good fuck I'm gonna come so goddamn hard for you!" he grated.

He rained kisses all over her neck and chest, never once letting up as he pounded into her, and she loved it; she loved feeling him over her, loved him fucking her like this, hard and deep and wanton, and just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, just when she was sure she'd have to beg him to ease off just a little, her body went taut and the orgasm shattered her.

She couldn't speak, her breath was gone, and when he felt her clench around him and the way she jerked beneath him that was it, he couldn't hold on, and seconds later he was spilling into the condom, jet after jet that left his balls aching and his muscles twitching.

"Fuck," she moaned as she shuddered through the aftershocks.

He nodded his agreement and gathered her against him, kissing anywhere he could reach, and she carded her fingers through his hair.

They were both quiet, trying to catch their breath, but after a moment she laughed.

"What?" he said, too spent to even raise his head.

"Experiment successful, I think," she said.

He echoed her laugh with a low, rasping one of his own before he stirred a little, just enough to lift off her and get rid of the condom. Her legs slid down to bracket his body, and he rubbed her thighs. "Sore, babe?" he said as she winced.

"Um hum. But I'll be okay."

When she looked up at him she saw that his ears were red and his eyes uncertain. She caught him by the beard and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. "That was incredible, Opie. Really."

"Yeah?" he said on an uncertain breath. "I didn't hurt you?"

"Well." Another small flinch as she shifted beneath him. He rolled off her and wrapped his arms around her, careful and tentative, and pulled her to his chest. She stroked his skin with her palm and kissed the reaper tattoo on his sternum.

"A little," she admitted, "but mostly good hurt. Almost entirely good hurt."

He frowned and kissed the top of her head. "But not completely good hurt."

She sighed, maybe sort of sadly. "There are things I want, Ope. Like—really, _really_ want—and incredibly rough, hard, intense fucking with you is very high on that list."

His hands were gentle as he caressed her back. "But?"

"No but. Not exactly. More like…well, okay, _but_, but not a hard one." She laughed at the confused noise he made. "I just mean—I have to be careful. I know you know that, and I know you'll take care of me."

"Of course I will, baby. Always."

She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes to enjoy the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Not every time. The other stuff, like the biting and—the other stuff—is fine. But the—the actual—"

"Fucking," he said with a hint of amusement.

She took a deep breath. "Fucking. Yes. Not as hard every time."

He sighed. "I did hurt you, then."

"Opie." She tilted her head back to look him in the face. "I love you. That sex was—it was incredible. I now truly understand what _Cosmo_ means when they use the term _mind blowing_."

He blushed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, Harry. Seriously."

His face scrunched. "It didn't last very long."

She muffled a giggle. "It didn't have to. It was a sprint, not a marathon. Sometimes a sprint is exactly what you want."

He flipped them over and dipped his head to kiss her nipple. Flick it with his tongue. "I love you so much, Olivia. I'd do anything to make you happy."

She grinned and tugged his hair a little. "Good. Then stop worrying! Since we got back together has sex ever been a problem?"

"No," he said, trailing his mouth down to her bellybutton.

"Okay. Then why would it be now?"

"Um." He bit the inside of her thigh, a gentle nip. "I guess, um…I guess it wouldn't?"

"Right," she said. "It wouldn't. So let's just—have a good time. Like we have been. I think we know each other well enough to tell when it's time to be rough and wild and when it's time to take it easy. Don't you?"

He ran his tongue up her slit and she wiggled. "I think now it's time for you to come again."

"Mmmm. See? Smart boy."

* * *

_Well. I warned you._


	23. Ghosts

Sorry for the longer-than-usual delay on this one, loves. You get a longer-than-usual chapter to make up for it. :)

* * *

**like sweet buttery spread on toast**  
**we fade into mist like ghosts**  
Bob Schneider, "Ghosts"

As he often was, Opie was gone when Olivia woke the next morning. He had an early shift at the garage, then club business would probably keep him out late. In theory she'd known what it would be like to be involved with a Son, but in practice it was very different.

And soon they would have to have the _old lady_ talk, because it seemed they might actually be in this sort of seriously. It had been less than a month, but that was really more a technicality. They'd known each other almost their whole lives, and they'd been dancing around _this_ practically since she got back to Charming six months ago.

Sighing, she hauled herself out of bed (limping a little) and headed for the shower. She ached. The inside of her thighs; her hips; low in her belly; her shoulders, a little, from this thing he'd done with…

Well. It didn't matter. All the aches and bruises and bites felt good. They made her think of Opie. His big body over her, under her, inside of her. His mouth and his fingers and his cock, licking and biting and, God, _fucking_. She shivered at the memories and pressed her hand over the fingers-shaped bruises on her hips.

He was so _big_: the marks dwarfed her small, long-fingered hands, and her skin looked porcelain-pale against them.

The hot water made her groan it felt so good, and she stood under it a long time. Tonight might have to be a blowjob-and-cuddle night, though knowing Opie he'd be happy with just the cuddles. Badass teddy bear biker man. With a grin she stepped out of the shower, and as she smoothed lotion over her skin and combed out her hair, the ringing phone caught her attention.

Juice's number on the ID. This early? Her first thought was Tara, and her pulse spiked.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" she said, and after a brief pause Juice laughed.

"Yeah, sorry. I guess it's kinda early."

"Well. It's not the crack of dawn at least, so." She tightened the towel around her body. "Everything's okay, though?"

"Yeah," he said. "Everything's…" Part of him wanted to tell her about the fight with Yvonne, just spill the whole deal, but that felt out of bounds. "Everything's good. Are you busy?"

"Busy? It's all relative. I did just get out of the shower, though, so I guess I'm only as busy as you can be when you're naked and wet."

There was a brief silence while her own words echoed back to her on mental loop. Her eyes closed and she let out a curse. "Jesus I'm so sorry that just—I didn't mean—oh God."

He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Damn, Liv. If I'm interrupting your _me_ time, you could just ask me to call back later."

"Shut up, Ortiz," she said, but she was trying not to laugh, too. "Just tell me why you called and then leave me to die in peace."

He took a deep breath, but it was no good, and his chuckles started all over again. It was funny, but not quite _that_ funny; but if he were laughing he wasn't picturing her _naked and wet_, and that was an image he wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Okay. Sorry." He scrapped a hand down his face and wiped at the tears in his eyes. "Okay. Ha. Since you're not busy, you think you could help me with something?"

"Getting your head out of your ass?" she said, sweetly. "That might require a medical professional."

"Yeah, yeah. Smartass. No, listen…this is kinda…bad." All traces of humor disappeared from his voice, and he toyed with an unlit cigarette as he tried to figure out how to say it. "There was kind of…an accident. With, uh, one of your sculptures?"

She dug through her underwear drawer, brow furrowed. "I don't understand," she said. "What sculpture? Where?"

"Ahh…my house. The, um. The one I own."

That stopped her. She went still, wrist-deep in panties and bras, and her breath left in a quiet rush. "You own one of my sculptures?"

He cleared his throat and dropped the cigarette to run his hand back and forth over his mohawk. "Yeah. I bought it at that show a while back. Remember I told you—"

"I remember," she said. _That_ show. The San Francisco show in that tiny little gallery—shit. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the ones that had sold. Jesus. Which one was his?

"Um, anyway, it kind of—it got broken. A little. An accident with a vacuum cleaner, I guess. I was wondering if I could bring it by and you could see about fixing it?"

For a second she had no idea what he'd just said; she was too deep in her own head; but then she blinked back to the present. "Oh. Broken?" Her mouth quirked in a rueful smile. How apropos. "Sure," she said. "I'm off today and tomorrow, so just come by any time."

"How about after lunch today?" he said. "I can borrow the van from TM and haul it over."

"Yeah, that works." She brushed a hand through her drying hair and really wished she weren't naked. "I'll see you then."

They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Olivia tugged on a t-shirt and some panties and went searching for a specific unpacked box. She found it, finally, in the very back of the hall closet, and she dug the scrapbook out of it. All stuff from old shows, flyers and pamphlets and pictures. The San Fransisco show was a few pages in.

Her fingers trembled as she touched the postcard advertising her work. There was a sculpture pictured on it, her favorite from the collection. At that point she'd been married to Ben less than a year, and some part of her missed Charming—and the people she loved there—like a physical ache. As she usually did, she poured it all out in her work.

The San Francisco show was her Charming retrospective. She never told anyone that, except Tara. There was a piece for each other closest friends. A piece for TM and all the good times she had there. One for the town itself and all the bizarre complex emotions it brought back.

And the one featured in all the advertisements. The one that she'd been reluctant to sell, but finally had a few days before the show closed.

In her mind, but never on paper because that wasn't her way, she called it, simply, _Us_. She never knew who'd bought it, and she'd always wondered. She'd given Opie and Tara theirs, and Gemma had bought the TM one. None of the rest had sold.

Except _Us_.

And no one, not even Tara this time, knew what the work meant to her, what it represented.

Except Juice, apparently, because of all the pieces in the show—and there had been several that were much less expensive—he'd insisted on having that one. He'd haggled with the gallery owner and put up a fuss and finally Elsbeth had called Olivia in a tither and Olivia had agreed to sell it.

Juice had done all that…and he hadn't had a clue what he was really buying.

She shut the album and dropped it back in the box before she slumped onto the closet floor and pressed both hands to her face. Warning sirens sounded in her head and starbursts illuminated the dark behind her closed eyelids.

_Don't go there again, Olivia Jameson,_ she thought, and it was in Tara's stern, no-nonsense voice. _You've got a new man now, and you love him. You're all marked up with him right this very minute. Old ghosts don't matter._

"It's just a hunk of metal," she whispered aloud. "Old ghosts don't matter."

Still. When she finally managed to crawl out of the closet, the first thing she did was call Opie. She needed to hear his voice. Needed it to steady her. At his surprised, delighted greeting her heart cramped and her stomach warmed and she was dizzy from the rush of it.

"I love you," she said before they hung up.

"I love you too, babe. I'll see you tonight."

He meant it, and so did she, and old ghosts didn't matter.

* * *

Juice parked the van in the driveway and went around back to get the hand truck. The sculpture wasn't very big, but he didn't want to risk breaking it any further trying to haul it through the house. Yvonne's car wasn't there, but he hadn't been expecting her; she had work today, early shift, and besides that he wasn't even sure she'd spent the night after he left.

The house was empty and quiet. Her toothbrush and shampoo and other girly things were still in the bathroom. He let out a sigh of relief and rested his palms against the counter. He'd been afraid, really afraid, that she'd take him up on the offer to pack her shit and go. He had a lot of weird mixed-up emotions about the thing with Yvonne, but he liked her. A lot. Even loved her. And if it had to end, he sure as hell didn't want it to end like that.

As he passed through the kitchen a note on his otherwise empty fridge caught his eye. He recognized Yvonne's pretty, feminine writing, and paused to read it.

_Juan Carlos,_

_I'm sorry I lost my temper. I didn't mean the things I said, and I know you would never mess with another girl. I know you and Olivia are over, and I am working on dealing with her. I promise. I want us to be good. I think we can be good._

_I love you._

_Yvonne._

_PS: there are empanadas in the refrigerator. Put them in the oven at 350 for 10 minutes. DO NOT MICROWAVE, Juan Carlos!_

Juice grinned and turned the oven on to preheat. She must not be too mad if she'd left him food. To Yvonne food was the ultimate peace offering. He would eat, then call her to apologize and let her know he was taking the sculpture to Olivia's. She might be mad if she found out he went over there without telling her.

Though she'd probably be mad he was going over there at all—even though she knew he wanted the sculpture repaired. Maybe he just shouldn't tell her. If she asked about it, he could say Olivia was fixing it at TM. Or he'd brought it to TM, then she'd taken it home herself.

There. That was good. That way if Yvonne showed up at the garage (unlikely) he would have a reason for it not being there.

He carefully got it strapped to the hand truck, frowning the whole time. Lying to his current girlfriend about going to his ex girlfriend's house probably wasn't the smartest move, but if he told her she might flip out again. It was just to get the sculpture fixed. He was over Olivia and they'd both moved on.

He would tell her. He would have the empanadas for lunch and call her on the way to Olivia's. Apologize, grovel, promise to make it up to her—then just sort of casually slip in where he was headed and why.

Or not tell her. Because he didn't want her to think anything was going on.

If she found out he lied she would definitely think something was going on.

So tell her. He would tell her. Olivia would advise him to tell her if he asked her about it.

Not that he was going to ask Olivia about his current relationship troubles, or tell her that Yvonne was jealous. He didn't want to make things strained between them again. It'd been so good since she got back from New York, just easy and casual, like old times. Minus the sex.

Very much minus the sex.

He pushed the pan of empanadas into the oven and set the timer. He definitely couldn't tell her. She'd flip. She'd take it all wrong and it would cause a whole other fight, and he really didn't want that. All he was doing was asking Olivia to fix the sculpture, and he and Yvonne had already talked about that.

He wouldn't be lying to her; not really. Just not one hundred percent telling the entire truth. And that really for her own good, because he didn't want her to get all upset over nothing. The timer beeped as he paced, and he nearly burnt his hand on the hot pan. He ate them fast, over the sink, and carefully wiped up all the crumbs when he was done. The pan got wiped down and stowed in the dishwasher, and after he'd neatened up the kitchen he rolled the hand truck out to the van.

It was better. Olivia would fix the sculpture. He and Yvonne would make up. It'd all be just fine.

* * *

Olivia was hard at work in the back shed, and she didn't hear the van in the driveway. The music was cranked, the blowtorch going, and she was lost in her own little world. She'd done her best to push aside any thoughts of Juice and the sculpture, but it was showing itself in her work today: a larger, more mature version of _Us_, it seemed, and she'd already decided the glass would be black or smokey gray, with shots of red and orange. Like sparks amidst coals.

Growling in frustration, she tossed the torch aside and stripped off the gloves. The helmet went next, and she dragged an arm across her forehead.

This wasn't what she wanted to be doing. She had no desire to rehash old relationships or revisit old ground. That exhibition was years ago. Over and done—just like her romantic relationship with Juice.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and slumped against the counter above it as she sipped. It was hot today, and sweat ran down her bare arms in little rivulets. She wiped her chest and neck with a towel and fanned herself with it.

"Liv?" came a voice from outside.

"Fuck," she muttered. She'd actually forgotten…whatever. She'd take a look at the sculpture and see what she could do. A vacuuming mishap. Who was responsible for that?

"Yeah, back here!" she called. She pushed the door open and waved, then jogged toward him. "Hey."

He paused. His eyes roamed her from head to toe: heavy boots; ripped up jeans; wife beater; hair in a messy bun. Her shirt was practically adhered to her skin and she glowed in the bright sun. There were bruises on her arms. Finger-shaped bruises, maybe, and what looked like a bite mark on her shoulder. More of them when she got a brief glance down her shirt—not that he was looking down her shirt.

Opie would never hurt her. Not like that.

So she must've liked it.

That was kind of a mind-blowing thought.

"Uh. Hey," he finally said. "Am I interrupting something?"

She lifted a brow. "Yeah. My daily sauna." At his look she shook her head. "Shut the fuck up, Ortiz."

"I didn't say anything," he said, fighting off a grin. He tucked his hands in the pockets on his kutte and rocked back on his heels. "Anyway, thought that sauna shit was supposed to be naked."

"It is," she said as she cut around him toward the front yard. "I've always been a rebel."

He laughed and fell in behind her. The goldfish tattoo on her shoulder peeked out from under the edge of her shirt, and he watched the fish move over her pale skin and the muscle beneath. He shouldn't be looking at her tattoo. Or her back. Or the way her jeans fit so snuggly and there was a rip like _right_ below her ass cheek and—

Whoa.

He cleared his throat, which caused her to glance back at him. "You okay? You look kinda funny."

"Yeah, just—man. It's hot today."

"Mmhhmm," she said in mild agreement. She stopped at the van and held up a hand for the keys. "You wanna try to carry it, or—?"

"I brought a hand truck."

"Smart. This's why you're goin' places." She glanced in and swallowed. It was the one all right. One of the bars hung like a broken arm, and she made a small noise of distress. "Poor thing."

"Yeah. I guess Yvonne was cleaning kind of—enthusiastically—and it got in her way." He shot her a quick look. "It was an accident. Not like she broke it on purpose or anything."

"I didn't say she did," she said as she climbed into the back of the van.

Together they lifted it, hand truck and all, down to the pavement, and she jumped after it. Her bad leg caught and she stumbled, but he grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Whoa," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." She leaned against him a moment, trying to get her balance, and as she straightened she cursed. He didn't let go. Her hand came up to grip his bicep.

"Olivia? Hey, Liv. Maybe you should sit down."

"I'm fine," she said. "I just should've finished that bottle of water. I've been working a little too long and I guess my leg got all stiff."

He made a low noise and lowered her to sit on the van's back bumper. "I'll go get you something. Stay here."

"Juice, really, I'm fine." She had her bad leg stretched out in front of her and was rubbing her thigh. "It was just a cramp."

"Uh huh. Caused by dehydration, sounds like. Just stay here."

She grumbled but did as he said, and he took off for the house. Once inside he paused. He hadn't been here before. It looked like _her_, completely, except…here and there he saw touches of Opie. A pair of his boots by the bench on the closed-in front porch. His jacket on the coatrack. A small sculpture of a motorcycle (looked like Olivia's work) on a side table. Coffee in the kitchen, which he knew Olivia didn't drink.

Juice was sure they weren't living together—not so soon—but it was evident Opie wasn't spending much time at his place.

Not like Juice could really say anything; he practically had a live-in girlfriend, and Opie and Olivia had known each other forever.

Trying not to think about it, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a pack of peanut butter crackers from the cabinet. She was where he'd left her, he was glad to see, and she took the food with a grateful grimace.

"When was the last time you ate?" he said. He, like everyone else in her life, knew she tended to forget to eat or sleep when she worked.

"It's only two," she said. "Not that late."

"Uh huh." He sat down beside her and stole a cracker. "You gotta be more careful, Liv. Especially when it's this hot out and you're in there with the torch on."

"Thanks, Dad," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

He made a face at her and nudged her with his shoulder. "You're such a jerk."

"Yep. That's why you hauled this thing all the way over here instead of just throwing it out. Because I'm a total asshole."

"Throw it out?" Horrified, he blinked at her. "I would never—you _made_ this, Liv. With, like. Your hands." He swallowed a bite and shook his head. "I've never owned art before. I mean, art that someone actually made. I'd never throw it out."

Her mouth quirked, but then her expression smoothed. She scuffed her boot against the ground and cut her eyes at him. He ate his cracker, oblivious, and raised his face to the sunshine. He looked happy. She wanted him to be happy.

"Why this one?" she said in a rush, before she could chicken out.

"Hmm?" He looked at her, then ducked his head to hide a blush. "Oh. Um. I don't know." His eyes drifted to the sculpture, even broken and strapped to a hand truck like it was, and his look was thoughtful.

"There was just somethin' about it," he said after a while. "I liked everything, you know, but this one—" He fidgeted a little. Rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "It reminded me of you the most, I guess. That sounds stupid."

"No." She touched his arm, a light brush of her fingers over his warm skin. "No, not at all." Now it was her turn to blush. "It's actually…"

She couldn't have this conversation sitting this close to him. Her leg felt better, and her head less swimmy, so she pushed herself upright and waved his offered hand away. She wandered down the driveway a bit, working out the stiffness, and finished off the bottle of water on her way back.

"It's actually what?" he said when she stayed silent.

"It's—ours." She screwed and unscrewed the cap on and off the bottle and tried not to look at him. "I made it to be us. Not _literally_ us, but just…" She hitched a shoulder.

He stared at the sculpture with new eyes, his jaw falling open. He could see it. He didn't know how or why, but he could. And he wondered that he hadn't before. "The way we felt."

She liked that he put the past tense on it, because that's what it was. Regardless of what they did or didn't feel now, this sculpture represented a phase in their relationship that was long past.

"Yeah," she said, her voice quiet. She studied him. "You really didn't know."

He gave a restless shrug and stood up to pace a slow circle. "I knew something. Not _this_, exactly, but something."

"Hhmm." She scratched her neck where the sweat had dried and the skin felt tight. "You still want me to fix it?"

He couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. It was abstract. A jumble of metal. How the fuck could a jumble of metal make him think of her? Besides the fact that she'd assembled it. Now when he looked at it (and maybe, if he were completely honest, even sometimes before) all he could see was her. Them. Those evenings out at the pines. The way she used to laugh, with her whole body. She didn't laugh like that anymore. Not since she stuck a knife in TJ's kidneys.

Opie and Tara, and even Jax, always said it was her mother's death that had changed her. She was a different person before that, they claimed.

Maybe that was true. But for Juice, the Olivia he'd known and loved before that awful prom night was a different girl than the Olivia he'd known and loved after.

And it was all there. Not _literally_, like she'd said, but somehow he could see the change. Almost like she'd started the sculpture _before_ prom night and finished it _after_—but he knew that wasn't the case. He took a deep breath and scrubbed both hands over his face. She'd said something to him, hadn't she?

"Uh." A quick shake of his head, like the clearing of cobwebs.

He looked up at her, his dark eyes big and haunted by a thousand ghosts. "I still want it," he said. He took a step toward her. "I mean, if you do. I still want it if you do."

Her chin tilted up to look at him. When had he gotten _so_ close? She could smell him, leather and sweat, and the sun gleamed off his brown skin. She shouldn't have let him steal that cracker, because her head was spinning again, or maybe everything else was and and she was standing still.

She couldn't tell.

"If I want what?" she said on a little breath.

For a second he was confused. She wanted him to say it? Just like baldly out loud, standing in her driveway in the middle of the—no. Wait.

"The—shit." He exhaled hard and stumbled back. "The sculpture, Liv. If you wanna fix the sculpture, I still want it."

"The sculpture." She gave the bits of metal a quick glance. "Of course I want to fix the sculpture, silly. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you're busy. Or, I mean—it's kinda old. Maybe you don't wanna go back to it."

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "I've moved on to other stuff, but you like it. Don't you?"

"Yeah, fuck," he said, quickly. "I love it."

She turned to him with a brilliant smile, sweet and beautiful. "Then duh. Just give me a couple days, okay? I'm working on something right now, but once I finish it this'll be good as new."

"Really?"

She made a thoughtful noise and bent to inspect it. "Just a little soldering. I think this bit might've been kind of weak anyway."

"Oh, like." He knelt next to her and saw what she meant. "Like, um. Easier to break."

"Mmhmm. I'll get it patched up. You might notice the spot, but it shouldn't take away from it at all."

"Good," he said with relief. "Thanks, Liv. Really. It means a lot."

She straightened and offered another sunny smile. "No worries, Juicy. Accidents happen."

He needed to leave. Now.

He brushed his hands off on his pants and held one out for the keys. She fished them out of her pocket and dropped them in his raised palm, and he nodded his thanks. "So I guess I'll see you around. At work."

"Yep," she said. "I'll let you know how it's going."

"Sure. Thanks. Again." He paused halfway to the van. "Shit. I'm kind of an asshole. I should help get it back to your workshop."

"Nah, it's okay. I'll get Opie to haul it back, then I'll bring the hand truck in tomorrow. That work?"

It got him away from her faster and meant they wouldn't be alone together in her goddamn work shed. "Sounds good," he said.

She crossed her arms over her belly and watched as he got the van going and backed out. They waved as he turned down the street, and once he was out of sight she shook her head.

"What a mess," she said under her breath. "What a goddamn mess."

* * *

_Hmm._


	24. Home

I'm SO SORRY about the delay for this one, guys. I had some weird shit go down, rl-wise, and it left me blocked as hell. Good news is y'all get the longest chapter so far. :)

* * *

**would you write would you call back baby if**  
**i wrote you a song**  
**i been gone but you're still my lady and**  
**i need you at home**  
The Lumineers, "Flapper Girl"

Olivia nearly dreaded seeing Opie that night. She _wanted_ to see him, of course, but she had to tell him about Juice and the sculpture, and she wasn't sure how he would take it. He was steady, usually. Slow to anger. Jealousy wasn't really his thing, and even if it were, he would surely recognize there wasn't anything to be jealous about here.

They made tacos for dinner, something they did together that was always a good time, and after he polished off the last one she got up to clear the plates.

He watched her circle the table to grab his, and he followed her into the kitchen to help with the dishes. She put the plug in the sink and turned on the water, and he lifted a brow as it filled—and she still didn't add detergent.

He grabbed the bottle of Dawn and squeezed some in, and she jumped like he'd startled her. "Oh," she said. "Whoops."

"Uh huh." He swapped places with her—it might be a better idea for her to dry tonight—and started on the first plate. He handed it to her and she gave it a distracted swipe.

"You gonna tell me what's on your mind, babe? Or do I gotta guess?"

She frowned. A guilty flush crept up her neck and over her cheeks. "It's not…it's not a real big deal."

"Huh. That's why you're actin' so spaced out? Over somethin' that's not a real big deal."

Her eyes were big as she looked up at him. He leaned away a little, so it didn't seem like he was crowding her. "It's about Juice."

"Yep." He sponged salsa from a bowl and rinsed it out. "Figured. Lay it on me."

This time she dried more carefully, _very_ carefully, and he couldn't help but grin. He took the bowl away and set it in the drying rack. Grabbed her hands in his and led her out of the kitchen and into the den. Once they were settled on the couch, he brushed the hair back from her forehead and gave her a soft kiss.

"Just tell me, Oll. Whatever it is."

"It's not—I mean, it's not…just…he came by today."

He blinked. "Okay," he said, slowly.

"He came by because he wanted me to fix something for him."

Opie snorted. "Kid's a fuckin' mechanic. Some sort of goddamn computer prodigy, too. What he have that he couldn't fix himself?"

She took a deep breath and her teeth sank into her lower lip. "One of my sculptures. From that show in San Francisco. Remember?"

"Uh." He ducked his head and tugged at his beard. "Yeah, course I remember. You gave me one. You said it was, like—about me."

"Mmhmm," he said. "I made one for—for Juice and me, too. A sort of…ode, I guess? To our relationship."

He stared at her, and she hurried to fill the silence.

"I mean it'd been years, and I'd been married to Ben for a little while by then, but after the way we left it, and the way I left Charming—it was like my form of closure, you know? Goodbye, Juice Ortiz. Here's your sculpture have a nice life."

"You give it to him?"

"No. Nope. He bought it. All on his own."

Opie smoothed both hands down his jeans and went very still. "He know what it meant?"

"He had no way of it. No one knew. I didn't tell anyone about that one. Not even Tara. It was…special, I guess."

Still he didn't move. Barely even blinked. Olivia shifted nervously. It was alarming when he did this. It meant he was thinking very deeply about something, or maybe trying not to get pissed. Or just trying to figure out how he felt about it at all.

"All this time you didn't know?" he said at last. "That he was the one who bought it, I mean."

"No, how could I?" She lifted her hands in a shrug. "Elsbeth never told me the buyer's name. I just assumed it was someone who saw the promo shit and really wanted that _one_ work."

"Hhhmm" was all he said. Nothing else for a long time.

"Opie?" she murmured.

He shook his head like waking up from a dream and pushed himself to his feet. "Gonna take a shower and head to bed. Been a long day."

"Ope—"

"I ain't mad, Oll. Nothin' like that. I just need a minute."

She frowned, but finally she nodded. That was just Opie. Pushing him would make him clam up harder. He'd tell her what was going on in his head; she had to give him time to make sense of it.

"Harry?" she said to his back.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He cast a look over his shoulder. "I know, babe. I love you too."

Several minutes later she heard the shower start. She pressed shaking hands to her face and slumped into the couch. She could not let something this stupid fuck up what she had with Opie. He was who she wanted. Yes, she still thought about Juice sometimes, but not in a present-tense way. Juice was her _then_. Opie was her _now_.

She finished up the dishes and switched the rump roast from the freezer to the fridge to thaw. Tomorrow before she left for work she'd start it in the crockpot; Opie loved pot roast, and she owed him one after today.

He was already in bed by the time she got there. He was reading, but when he saw her he put his book aside with a smile. "Hey, babe," he said.

"Thought you'd be half asleep by now."

He held out a hand and her palm slid into his. "Was waitin' on you."

Settling in next to him, she rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath of his just-showered scent.

"How'd it get broken?" he said, and she could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest.

"I guess his girlfriend hit it with a vacuum cleaner. Accidentally."

"Huh," he said.

She cast him a quick look. "What?"

His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "Nothin'. Just—awful convenient. His girlfriend breakin' the sculpture you made about the two of you."

"I'm sure she knew I made it, but she didn't know the other thing. I told you: no one did. It's just a coincidence he got that one."

He made a low, doubtful noise. Not that he didn't believe her, more she still surprised him sometimes. "Oll, you—you ain't got a clue, do you?"

A deep frown and a long, confused blink. "About what?"

He sighed and cupped her face in his big hand. "Baby, when somebody loves you, they don't do it halfway. It ain't possible. And love like that—it don't die easy."

"Ope, Juice isn't—"

"I'm not sayin' _now_. But back then? When you did that show? Yeah."

That troubled her, and she went quiet. After a moment she slid down in bed and flipped over with her back to him. Opie gave a brief sigh. Wrapped himself around her and pulled her tight against him. His nose in her hair and his hands pressed flat against her tummy, her back nestled to his chest.

"I love you, Oll. I know what I'm talkin' about."

She tangled her fingers through his and squeezed. "I love you too, Harry. You're who I want."

"I know," he murmured in her ear. "I do know that." He kissed her neck, his lips warm and soft. "You're who I want, too."

"Okay," she said. Her voice sounded thick, and he thought maybe she was crying.

"Shhh, baby girl. Shhh, don't cry."

"I'm not."

He held her tighter, and after a moment her small body shook in his arms. "Olivia?"

"It's all so fucked up, Opie," she said through her sniffles. "Sometimes I think I shouldn't've come back here at all. I could've gone to New York. Chicago. LA. But no. I come to Charming. I knew how Juice felt; he made himself real fuckin' clear. So why _here_?"

There was a paused while he thought it over. He stroked a hand down her back, a soothing, loving gesture, and she arched into it like a cat. "I know you still love him."

She went still, tight as a coiled spring. "Opie, no. I mean, yeah, of course a little. But not like—"

His sigh interrupted her, and he buried his face in the side of her neck to kiss and nip at her throat. Down the curve of her shoulder. His hand moved under her shirt and up her body to cup her breast in his palm. "I don't care that you still love him. I don't care he still loves you. It don't matter at all."

"I'm glad I came back," she whispered. "No matter what happens. Because you and me—we needed this second chance."

He laughed, a brief snort. "We did. And, ya know, I don't give up easy either."

Her brow furrowed. "You don't have anything to give up _about_, Opie."

A low thoughtful noise, and he kneaded her breast almost absently. "It don't really matter anyway."

She tried to twist to face him, but he held her in place. She wiggled: his cock was hot and hard against her ass, and she rocked against it with a soft, eager noise. "Why?" she said on a breath. "What do you mean?"

"I don't care about none of it," he growled. He bit her ear. "How he feels or doesn't. He had his chance. He blew it. You're my girl now. Aren't you, Olivia? My girl."

"Yes, Harry. Your girl. I told you: you're who I want."

"I know I am." He pushed her panties down to bare her ass and gave it a sharp smack. She yelped and subsided into strained panting.

"Babe," she breathed, "after last night I'm not sure—"

"I can be easy," he said, but his rough voice made her think otherwise. He squeezed her thigh and she moaned. She felt his erection brush her skin—she had no idea when he'd lost his shorts—and she whimpered.

"Don't."

He froze, and she made an impatient gesture.

"Don't be easy."

He gritted his teeth to muffle a groan. "Don't wanna hurt you, baby girl."

"Opie—"

"Hush," he whispered. "I'm gonna take good care of you, sweetheart." He wiggled until his cock was nestled firm against her ass, and his hand slid down the front of her panties. Two fingers brushed across her clit, eliciting a heated moan. "Nobody else matters, Oll. Just us. It's just us here."

"I know, Opie," she said. "I know."

He worked her clit with his fingertips, rubbing in a slow circle, then flicking. He eased them into her and held them there. Her breath came in gasps, and he chuckled as he kissed the curve of her ear.

"Fuck my fingers, baby," he said. "Come all over my hand."

A rush of air from her lungs, and her hips moved in an unhurried, sinuous undulation. He gritted his teeth and pressed closer, so that every time she moved they were grinding against each other. She rested her hand over his, through the cotton of her underwear, and bucked.

"God, Opie!" she breathed. "I love you so much."

"Love you too, Ollie. Always will." He bit the side of her neck and sucked hard enough to leave a mark. At her noise of protest he grinned. "Wear a scarf."

She dripped down his hand; he curled his fingers inside her to tap her G-spot. Her voice was a hot whimper, almost a whine, and her free hand clenched his hip, her strong fingers digging into the skin so that it was white all around.

"Sweet, sexy Ollie," he murmured in her ear. "My baby girl. Wanted you so long, sweetheart. Love you so much. I make you feel so good, don't I?"

"Yeah, Opie," she said, short and sharp. "Yeah, yes, fuck, so good!"

"Come for me, babe. Come all over me need to feel you."

"Close, fuck, that's good, don't stop!"

He moved with her, grunting a little when she rocked back into him. Her movements became erratic, more stuttering, and he could tell she was almost there. He kept up the litany of dirty, erotic whispers and words of love even as she begged him for more. He closed his eyes and his head fell back: God he loved to hear her beg.

"Opie, Harry, baby, fuck please please that's right just like that!"

The hand that had been on his hip lifted to grab at his hair instead. She pulled hard enough to make him wince, but the pain felt weirdly good. Fucking amazing, actually, and his balls were starting to get tight and achy as her orgasm closed in.

"Good girl, Ollie, good girl, that's it that's good, come for me," he urged in a rusty, lust-wrecked voice.

She was still a little sore from last night's exertions, but it didn't matter. His body against hers, his cock on her ass, his fingers buried deep inside—and, Jesus, his voice in her ear—made her forget any lingering aches and pains. Her legs shook and her tummy tightened and the heat swamped her in a long, rolling wave.

"Yes!" she gasped, and he moaned as her cunt clenched around him. He worked her through every last, lingering shudder of it, whispering encouragement the whole time, and once she finally fell still he mouthed sweat from the side of her neck.

"Jesus, Ope," she said.

He grinned and pulled his hand free. His fingers were slick and shiny, and as much as he knew she wanted to lick them clean for him, he had other plans.

She cast a look over his shoulder. "What are you—?" Her eyes widened when she felt them against her ass, then stroking his cock. He wiggled them between her thighs and dragged more of her wetness over his erection, until he was nice and slippery on her skin.

"Be still, baby," he said. He got a firm grip on her hip, and she twined her fingers through his. When she tried to wiggle he bit her shoulder. "What did I say?"

She muffled a tiny groan. "Be still."

"That's right." He kissed the spot that still bore the mark from his teeth. "Be still."

He rocked into her, his erection sliding over her ass and between her legs. He pulled her against him more firmly, and the tip of him nudged into her. She whimpered, and she could feel his mouth as he grinned. He pulled back, creating a delicious friction across her perineum and the curve of her ass.

"Opie," she murmured.

"Gonna come all over you, baby girl. That okay?"

She bit her lip hard enough to hurt and her head jerked in a nod. "Yeah, Ope. Please?"

He groaned. Squeezed her hip. And began to move in earnest. He guided her so that she rocked with him, just the way he liked, and it wasn't long before he was grunting and making this particular little whine that had her pulse all in a scramble.

"Fuck, Ollie, fuck you feel so good. You're so wet for me, so slick and hot. You like that? You like me humpin' you like this?"

She almost couldn't believe it, but she did. She _really_ did. "Yeah, babe, yes, God that's good!"

"My girl, Olivia," he almost growled. "My woman. No one else's."

"That's right, Opie. Your woman. And you're my man. All mine."

"Goddamn gonna come, gonna come for you, gonna come all over your pretty little cunt and your sexy round ass."

"Please, please, please!"

He couldn't resist her when she did that, begged all desperate and hungry, and with a rough cry and one last thrust of his hips his dick jerked and he was coming all over her, just like he'd promised. A heated spill, a frenzied rush, stars exploding behind his eyes and her name on his lips like sweet wine.

"God, baby, fuck, holy shit," he managed even as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

She moaned, and gradually he softened against her. "Wow," she said.

He gasped out a laugh. "Yeah. Wow." When he thought he could move without passing out, he pushed her onto her belly and climbed on top of her.

"Opie?"

"Gotta get you cleaned up, sweetheart. Can't let you lay around covered in come."

She gave a breathless giggle. "That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of you."

"Nuh uh." His mouth was on her back, licking and kissing and nibbling his way down her spine. "Not gentlemanly at all."

When she felt his tongue slick along the swell of her ass she wiggled. "Well then, baby boy. Better get to it."

* * *

Three days later, and Juice and Olivia were on at the shop together. They hadn't spoken much since he came by with the sculpture, but for some reason she got the idea that had more to do with Yvonne than with Olivia. It seemed (from what Olivia was able to gather from around) that they'd gotten into a fight, and while no one was saying about _what_ (because Juice wasn't), he'd crashed at the clubhouse the same night Yvonne had broken the sculpture.

Olivia had always been good at math, and two and two could usually be relied upon to equal four.

Gemma left early that day for a hair appointment, so Olivia took over for her in the office. Finally it was closing in on five, and Olivia couldn't wait to get out of there. She hated working in the office. She wanted to fix cars, not total out invoices. She was going through the last little stack of them when the door to the garage opened and Juice wandered in. His face was pale, and he held a paper towel against one hand.

It was turning red.

She jumped up so fast the chair flew out behind her and hit the filing cabinet. She ignored it. "Jesus, Ortiz, what did you do?"

"Nothin'. I mean. Just a dumb accident. Kinda bleedin', though."

She sighed and searched the drawer for the first aid kit. "Sit down. Let me have a look."

He sank down onto the sofa, and a moment later she joined him there. Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he went from pale to a sort of greenish gray. Not a great look.

"Let me see," she said. She took his hand in hers and gently peeled the paper towel away. The gash was impressive. Kind of deep. Long, but not wide. "Juice," she said, frowning, "I think you might need stitches."

"Uh…" If possible his color got even worse at that. "I'd kinda rather not. Just put some of that glue shit on it. I'll be fine."

"I don't—"

He gave her an almost desperate look. "Please, Liv. I don't want to go to the hospital."

She chewed on her lip a moment. Shot and almost killed when he was sixteen. His mother dead of cancer by the time he was twenty-two. Yeah, okay. Maybe no hospital if it could be avoided. "I'm calling Tara, though," she said. "At least let her look at it."

He let out a long, shaky breath. "Deal."

Still not entirely happy, but knowing she had to take little victories where she could find them, Olivia wrapped some gauze around his hand and went to call Tara. She filled her in on the situation, but luckily she didn't have to explain Juice's aversion to hospitals.

"She's on her way," she said as she sat next to him again.

"Great," he said. "Thanks, Liv."

"She said to go ahead and disinfect it and wrap it gently. So, um." She carefully peeled away the gauze and poured some hydrogen peroxide on a cotton ball. "Hold this," she said, handing him the bottle.

He hissed as she dabbed at the cut, and she winced. "Sorry."

"S'okay. Startled me more than anything."

She held his hand steady and they both went quiet as she worked. He couldn't help but study her face: the line of concentration between her brows. Her lower lip caught between her teeth. The scrunch to her nose that he'd kissed more times than he could count.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" she said without looking up.

"It was stupid," he muttered. "Just caught my hand on that fuckin' spring on the garage door. You know the one."

"Hhhmm. I thought Jax fixed that."

"Me too. S'why I wasn't bein' as careful as normal."

"You need a tetanus shot?" she said. "I can call Tara back—"

"Nah. I got one last year." He held up his other hand to show her a small white scar. "Fixin' my lawnmower. Caught one of the blades."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Smooth, Ortiz," she said.

He glowered, but his mouth was twitching as he fought off a smile. "I guess I'm kinda accident prone for someone who rides a motorcycle and fixes engines."

"Uh huh," she said, and by that time they were both laughing.

The door to the lot opened, and Olivia flashed Juice a smile. "That was fast," she said, but when she looked that way she saw it wasn't Tara at all. Her first instinct was to drop Juice's hand, but she fought the urge. They weren't _doing_ anything, and that would make it look like they were. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," Opie said, drawing the syllable out doubtfully.

Juice's brow creased with worry, but it smoothed before he twisted around. "Hey, bro," he said.

"Sorry," Olivia said. "I thought you were Tara. Juice cut his hand, and I called her to come take a look."

"Ah," he said. "I just stopped in to tell you I might be a little late tonight."

"Okay," she said with a smile. "I'm sure I can entertain myself for a few hours. Want me to wait to eat?"

He waved a hand. "Whatever works for you. I'll just grab somethin' when I get in if you already ate."

Juice shifted in his seat. The conversation was banal enough, but for some reason he felt like he was intruding on something intimate. "I should maybe get back to work," he mumbled.

"You're not going anywhere, Ortiz," she said. "Not until Tara looks at this hand. Sit there and be quiet."

Opie couldn't smother a grin. He walked around them to get a good look at Juice's hand and let out a low whistle. "Shit, man. That fuckin' spring again?"

"Yeah," he said with a grimace. "Jax said he fixed it."

"Said he did. But you know how he's been since the kid."

"Uh huh," Juice said. "Off in orbit someplace."

"Can't really blame him. I'd flip if it were my kid."

"Mmhmm," Olivia said. "Luckily I don't do drugs." As soon as it was out of her mouth her eyes went huge. "I mean—fuck, I didn't mean—I'm not _pregnant_. And I have no plans to be. I just meant—"

Opie cleared his throat to hide a laugh and Juice went red around the ears. "It's okay, babe," Opie said. "I'm not gonna hold you to it."

She shot him a glare, and he leaned down to kiss her. A long kiss. Deep. Lots of tongue. Not at _all_ the way he normally kissed her in public. His fingers tightened in her hair, briefly, before they trailed down her neck. He pulled away, his forehead resting on hers. "See you tonight, baby girl?" he murmured in a voice that made her fight a shiver.

"Yeah, Ope. You know where to find me."

One last kiss to the tip of her nose, then he straightened and clapped Juice on the shoulder. "Be careful, brother. It's a dangerous world out there."

"Uh huh," he said, nonplussed.

The door closed behind Opie, and Olivia only then realized she hadn't let go of Juice's hand the whole time she'd been kissing Opie. She dropped it quickly and scooted away. "Sorry. I'm sorry about that. He doesn't normally—"

"What?" Juice said, his tone carefully mild. "Kiss you? Looks like he's had plenty of practice to me."

"In public. He knows I don't really care for that sort of thing in public."

Juice's mouth curved in a sardonic grin. "Either he doesn't consider me _public_, or the whole thing was for my benefit. Pretty sure we know the answer to that one."

"Juice." The line between her brows deepened. "It's not like that. Come on."

"You told him about the sculpture? I mean, like, all of it?"

"Yeah, of course I did."

"Right. And like three days later he walks in to us holding hands. I dunno, Liv. I think I'd react in the exact same way."

Her body went stiff, her mouth tight. "We weren't _holding_—"

"You know what I mean." His dark eyes were steady on hers, and she felt heat ripple through her: across her cheeks. Between her breasts. Creeping up her neck like a sunburn.

Neither of them spoke, and the silence stretched taut. He reached for her, but she jerked away. "Don't."

"Olivia—"

"Don't make this into something it's not, Juice. You're hurt. I was helping you. That's it."

He lifted a brow. "And the other day?"

"When you brought the sculpture?" She dismissed it with a flick of her fingers. "It was hot. I was dehydrated. There was a lot of nostalgia. Nothing happened." She paused, and her look was significant. "Nothing is _going_ to happen."

He searched her face, and she could feel it almost like a physical touch. Her flush deepened. Her palms prickled and she rubbed them against her jeans.

"I know it's not," he finally said. "I don't want it to, either. I got a good thing with Yvonne, and I'd never wanna fuck it up for you and Opie."

"I know you wouldn't," she said. "So please explain what's going on here, Ortiz. I'm fuckin' confused."

His lips moved in a tremulous smile and he gave a quick jerk of his head. He let his chin fall to his chest, and when he looked up again his expression was strange and inscrutable. "I'll never stop lovin' you, Liv. Simple as that."

Her mouth fell open on a breath. Her eyes darted down: somehow his hand had come to rest on her knee. She didn't think he even realized it. "Of course you won't," she said. Her voice shook. "Because I won't ever stop loving you either."

In that moment all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Her head spun, and the only thing steadying her was his warm palm on her leg. His fingers tightened; squeezed; and she drew in a breath. His gaze brushed over her mouth, briefly, and she felt a hot ache in the pit of her stomach. They had drifted closer, somehow, and she could feel his breath on her cheek, a warm, minty bloom.

He knew exactly how she would taste. She knew just how his lips would feel on hers. He would tangle a hand in her hair and his tongue would slide so sweet against hers.

"Juicy…"

"Shh. Don't."

"We can't. I love him."

"I know. I know you do."

Her pupils were huge, his mouth soft, and on her leg his hand twitched like he was fighting the urge to grab her.

The door behind him flew open and Tara rushed in, like a sudden clap of thunder to shatter the tension. "I'm here! Where's the—oh shit."

Olivia brushed the tears off her cheeks—when had she even started to cry?—and jumped up. "It's not that bad, really," she said, talking too quickly but unable to stop. "I just thought a real actual professional should look at it, because it might need stitches and I didn't want it to get infected. He cut it on the garage door, but he said he had a tetanus shot last year, so that should be okay. Anyway, I'll let you—" She made an awkward gesture at Juice and stepped out of Tara's way.

Tara touched her arm, and her voice was soft. "Go find something to do. Then we're going to talk. Okay?"

"It's not at all what you think," she murmured.

"Right. Sure." She smiled a little and kissed Olivia's cheek. "We'll talk."

Juice and Tara watched her leave, and when Juice turned back to see Tara's face he had to fight the urge to flee. "So. Um. Nice weather, huh?"

She dropped down next to him and yanked his hand closer. "Shut up, Ortiz," she said.

He swallowed hard and looked away. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

_Hopefully I won't go away again. Things are getting interesting now. :)_


	25. Wanting

I'm ALIVE, bitches! I bet you thought I'd never be back. And yet here I am. :) I hope you haven't forgotten about me, or this languishing fic. It's been a Weird Time the past few months, and I apologize for my long long absence.

Enjoy...

* * *

**at five o'clock you come shuffling in**  
**and when i lock you out i want to get you**  
**let you, get you in  
**Better Than Ezra, "Get You In"

"What the _fuck_, Ollie?" Tara hissed as she dragged her into the clubhouse office. "What are you _doing_?"

Olivia wouldn't meet her eyes, and she bit off an impatient sigh. "Nothing! I'm not doing anything. You didn't—it wasn't what it looked like."

Tara stepped closer and grabbed Olivia's arm before she could turn away. "It looked like you were about to kiss Juice. In the office. He had his _hand_ on your _leg_."

"I know," she said on a breath. "Trust me, Tara, I know. I wasn't going to kiss him. I don't think he was going to kiss me. I love Opie, and Juice's got Yvonne and—but it's complicated. It's really fucking complicated."

She studied Olivia's face for a long time, her olive eyes hot and probing. It was all Olivia could do not to squirm, but she'd been subjected to Tara's scrutiny enough times to keep her cool. Somehow. "Does Opie know you're still in love with Juice?" she said at last.

Olivia frowned, but after a moment her expression smoothed. There wasn't any point in denying it; Tara knew her too well, and she'd seen what she'd seen. "I don't know," she said. "He knows Juice is still in love with me."

"Jesus," Tara muttered. "This is so fucked up, Ollie."

"You think I don't know that? You don't think I'd change it if I could? I don't _want_ to be in love with Juice! I don't want Juice to be in love with me! I have such a good thing with Opie, Tara. I love him so much and he makes me so happy."

Tara shook her head as she ran a hand over her face. "I know you do, babe. I know he does. I'm not trying to give you shit or be a pain in the ass."

"I know," she said. "And you're right about all of it. It's fucked up, and it's not fair to any of us. But what do I do?" Under normal circumstances the question would be rhetorical, but Tara could tell from Olivia's expression that she genuinely meant it. She was at a loss, desperate not to hurt anyone, and it paralyzed her.

Tara crossed her arms around her middle as she thought it over. "I don't know," she said, her thoughts turning to Jax. "Maybe Juice is…it's nostalgia. Your past. You two had a good thing. It was comfortable and familiar and made you feel safe. The thing with Opie is—well, not exactly _new_, but at least in a _new way_—and that's kinda scary."

It was similar to what Olivia had been thinking ever since the sculpture incident, and to hear her best friend echo it made her relax a little. "You're right," she said, her voice quiet. "It's hard for me to see Juice with someone else, and I'm doing some sort of twisted _if I can't have him no one can_ thing. I want him to be happy; I really do."

"It's just hard to see him happy with anyone but you," Tara said.

"Yeah." Olivia's mouth quirked in a rueful smile. "Is that completely fucked up?"

Tara lifted a hand in a shrug and perched on the edge of the desk. "Nah, babe. It's human. You guys were intense. It was a long time ago, but shit like that doesn't just go away."

"Don't you think it should?" Olivia slumped next to her and scuffed her boot against the floor. "Eventually? When you fall for someone else, the old shit should go. Right?"

She let out a brief, cynical laugh. "You're asking the wrong person, Oll. The only guy I've been serious with since high school turned out to be a total psycho."

"Mmm," Olivia said in mild agreement. "In all fairness, I had a complete psycho of my own once upon a time."

"True," Tara said. "Let's hope I don't have to stab mine."

Something about her tone made Olivia give her a sharp look. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" she said, overly bright and deeply unconcerned.

"Don't try to lie to me, Tara Grace. Is he here? Did you see him?"

Tara ducked her head, and her long fingers gripped the edge of the desk like it was a life raft. Olivia watched her, waiting, and finally Tara let out a long, rough breath. "He cornered me at the hospital. Apologized for"—her laugh was brittle this time—"for _loving_ me too much. For being too intense. God, Olivia. I would've fallen for that once. I feel so fucking _stupid_."

"No, Tara, no. He's the bad guy here. You're the victim. And, ya know, being a victim doesn't make you _weak_. He's a good looking guy. Charming." Olivia slid an arm around Tara's waist and gave her a squeeze. "It happens," she said. "It happened to me."

"Yeah, but you were just a kid. I'm a full grown adult woman who should have more sense."

"Tara." She let out a sigh and pulled her arm free to tangle her fingers with Tara's instead. "That kind of victim blaming is exactly what he wants. He wants you to feel weak and helpless and like it's all your fault. _None_ of it is your fault. Not a single thing. Don't let him get inside your head."

Tara let her head fall to rest on Olivia's shoulder. "He knows about the abortion," she said after a moment.

"Ah…" Olivia said, softly. "What did he say?"

"He…he said he wished I'd trusted him enough to tell him."

Olivia couldn't smother a snort. "Wow. He's a piece of work. Tara, babe, I know I keep saying this, and I know it's easier said than done, but try not to let him get under your skin. It's all bullshit and manipulation."

She cleared her throat and shifted her weight away from Olivia. "He also gave me some pictures. Of Jax and some…girl. I guess he picked her up somewhere."

"You mean, like…naked pictures?"

Tara nodded. "Fucking."

"Wow. Are you…holy shit. He took pictures of—?" Olivia was practically speechless. Tara's ex took pictures of Jax fucking some random girl? And gave them to Tara? "What did you _say_?"

Tara shrugged a shoulder. "Nothing. I didn't actually look at them until he walked away, but…Jax and I aren't together. It's not like he owes me anything."

"True, but clearly Kohn thought the pictures would get to you."

There was a silence, and Olivia watched Tara carefully. Her face was practically unreadable, but a slight tremor around her mouth gave her away. "He seems different," she finally said.

"Jax? Or Kohn?"

"Jax! Kohn is exactly the same."

Olivia drew in a long breath. "Okay," she said. "Because of the kid?"

"That," Tara said, nodding, "but also, just…it's been a long time. People do change. They grow up."

"Mmhmm," Olivia said.

"Oh, Ollie, don't. You're the one nearly making out with your high school ex in the office!"

"Whoa!" Olivia held up her hands to ward off Tara's rant. "Calm down. I didn't say a word. If you want to hook up with Jax again I'm not gonna stop you. He's got the baby now, and he's been married. But it's just, you know, the same shit we always worry about. _That_ hasn't changed."

"The MC," Tara said.

"Yeah. The MC."

"Opie and Juice are both MC, too."

"I know." Olivia sighed. "Opie's legacy, and Juice is—desperate to belong. He always has been." Her mouth moved in a bitter twist. "It's gonna get him into serious trouble one day."

"So what do we do?" Tara said in a sad, quiet voice.

"I don't know," Olivia said for maybe the hundredth time that day. "What _can_ we do? You love one of these guys you kind of have to love the club too. Right? You can't make him choose."

Tara's brow furrowed. "Can't you? If it's life or death. Can't you?"

Olivia hesitated, her mouth falling open as she considered. "I think…I think _he_ can choose. He can decide you or club. But it's not fair of us to…force the choice on him. As much as we might want to. As much as it might be for his own good." She shivered and rubbed her arms as though suddenly chilled. "Let's quit talking about this. I'm starving, and I promised to buy you lunch."

"It's not gonna go away."

"Yeah, well, neither is Kohn. Go to the cops about him, Tara. Or, I don't know—tell Jax. Something."

Tara rolled her eyes and hopped off the desk. "Come on, bitch. You did promise me lunch."

* * *

Olivia found Opie in the garage when she got home that evening. His latest passion project—a 1938 Harley Flathead he'd gotten for a steal at an estate sale—was barely recognizable as anything rideable. He was taking it apart and rebuilding it, piece by piece. A way, he said, to block out everything else: club, family, real life.

It was a sentiment Olivia could understand.

She rested her hand on his shoulder a moment and walked around to the other side of the bike. "Need some help?"

He smiled, the big sweet one that took years off his face, and gestured with a wrench. "Knock yourself out, ace."

She dropped to the concrete and studied the bits of antique motorcycle. "I think I know where you're going, but maybe you should draw me a map. Just in case."

The only thing he loved more than _working_ on one of his projects was _talking_ about them. His face lit up like a kid in a candy store and he spent the next twenty or so minutes explaining his vision for the bike. Olivia nodded along, catching a strong dose of his enthusiasm as he spoke, and once he was done she grinned up at him and grabbed a wrench.

"Let's get to it," she said.

It was a long time before either of them spoke again. They didn't need to. They worked in sync, without words, and whatever tool either of them needed seemed to come to hand like a type of magic. At one point she struggled with a stubborn bolt, and a can of WD-40 appeared at her knee. She flashed him a brief smile, spritzed the stupid bolt, and got back to work.

The sun was setting on the other side of the house, and the garage was in deep shadow by now. He had a work light on, and they barely noticed the passage of time—until a loud growling from Opie's stomach shattered the quiet.

Olivia giggled and Opie blushed. "Well. Supper time?" she said.

"Yeah." He rubbed his tummy. "Guess so." They packed away the tools, each one in its place, and he pushed himself to his feet. Held out a hand and helped her up. "You okay?" he said when she stumbled.

"Hard floor. I'm fine." She rubbed at a grease smudge on his cheek. "What's for dinner, lumberjack?"

"Ahh…" He took several steps back and squeezed the back of his neck with a big hand. Her brow creased in not-quite-but-almost-alarm. She didn't try to follow him.

"What's up?" she said, her voice quiet.

He wouldn't look at her. "I was thinkin'—I was thinkin' I might head home. For the night. Y'know, make sure the place's is still standin'."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, of course. That's, um. That's not a bad idea."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled closer. "It ain't—it ain't _you_, Oll."

"It's not?" she whispered. "It's not because of earlier, in the office?"

His face scrunched. Earlier. In the office. He'd been trying very hard not to think about it; it was one of the reasons he'd started working on the Flathead in the first place. The look on her face. The look on Juice's. The way their fingers had twined together so thoughtlessly. Like it was their natural state.

"You and Juice, you mean?"

"Mmhmm."

He gave a restless shrug. "No. I don't know. Maybe…a little? But not—fuck." He scrubbed both hands over his head, knocking his black beanie askew. "There's so much shit goin' on, babe. So much goddamn shit."

"Okay." She took a deep breath and stepped toward him. Her hand fluttered between them a moment before it came to rest on his arm, light as a sparrow. "Tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He shot a restless glance out the open garage door, but the street outside was empty, and the shadows lay thick. "It's—a lot of MC bullshit."

"I figured," she said with a brief quirk of her mouth. "Tell me."

He took her hand in his—the one that had been on his arm—and brought it up to kiss the palm. "It's Clay," he said at last. "He don't trust me. Not completely."

Her head tilted in astonishment. "You? He doesn't trust _you_? After you did five years for that club?"

"Yeah," he said, dryly, "but that was then. This's now."

"What's different about now?" she said, fearing his answer.

Their eyes met, and his expression was frank. "You."

She swallowed and stumbled back until she hit the work bench. The wood dug into the small of her back, and she gripped it with both hands. The smooth surface settled her, and when she spoke again her voice barely trembled. "He doesn't trust _me_?"

Opie jerked his head in a _no_. "Ain't that. More like…he thinks I'm not all in. He knows—hell, everybody knows—that club ruined my marriage to Donna. He knows how you feel about the whole thing, and he thinks…fuck, how'd Jax put it? My _loyalties are divided_."

She looked up at him, and even in the harsh glare of the work light he could see how pale she'd gone. "Is that what Jax thinks?"

"Not sure," he said after a thoughtful pause. "He says he trusts me. I believe that. But—fuck, Oll, don't tell anybody this, okay? I'm pretty damn sure his _loyalties are divided_ too."

"What do you mean?" she said with a frown. "The MC's in his blood."

"Yeah, but…I don't know. He's been different lately. I guess ever since Abel? He's been kinda buttin' heads with Clay. Questionin'. It's makin' some of the guys uneasy."

"You?"

Another laconic shrug. "My loyalty's with Jax. I think everybody knows that."

"Clay included. Which would have him a bit nervous, I imagine, if the prince is suddenly…acting out."

"Uh huh."

She gave a brief shake of her head and brushed her hand over her face, as though clearing away cobwebs. "So what does all this mean? Are you—" She swallowed. She didn't even want to say it. "Are you…ending…this? To keep Clay happy?"

"Shit!" he said. He surged toward her and gripped her arms so hard it hurt. "Oll, no! Fuck no. Clay don't run my life. I just…"

He dipped his head and kissed her, soft and sweet. "I need a little distance, babe," he murmured against her mouth. "Somethin's comin' down. I feel it. I don't want you gettin' hurt by it."

"I can take care of myself," she said. "I make my own decisions."

He smiled and kissed her again, more firmly. "I know you do. Stubborn as all hell, that's my girl."

"Harry—" She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her off her feet to deepen the kisses. Heat snaked through her belly, her chest, her cheeks. He boosted her onto the workbench and her legs went around him. "Tell me you love me," she whispered.

"I love you, baby girl. Love you so much." He kissed all over her upturned face, and when she tugged his shirt over his head he reached for the work light and flicked it off. Purple shadows, heavy and velvety, hugged close, and despite the open garage door they felt like they were all alone, marooned on an island in a sea of semi-dark.

"Opie," she breathed. "I love you too."

He peeled her tee shirt off, then unlaced her boots so she could kick them away. "I know it, sweetheart. I know."

She wriggled out of her jeans, her panties following shortly after, and in the dark she heard the jingling of his belt. Her legs squeezed him and he thrust into her, long and deep. She hissed out a breath and his teeth nipped at the soft skin of her throat.

They didn't need words for this, either. He rested his forehead on hers and moved, pulling her close with each jerk of his hips. She couldn't see his eyes, not quite, but she could read his face anyway, as he could read hers. They kissed over and over. He bit her lip and dug his fingers into her thighs and with a soft cry of surprise she came, hard and shuddering.

He followed seconds after, and as they both gasped and panted her chin fell so that her forehead landed on his shoulder.

She _ached_ with love for him. It filled her to the brim and overflowed in a cascade. Her heart banged against her ribs, and she could feel his in a matching, frantic rhythm.

But it hurt. Her heart. It wasn't divided neatly in half, a careful slice made by a surgeon. Instead it was torn. Rent in two pieces, one of them held by the man in her arms, _her_ man, the man who made her want things she'd never thought she'd want again…

And the other dwelled across town. With the boy seventeen-year-old Olivia had loved so dearly and so desperately. The boy she'd killed for. The boy she'd cried herself to sleep for a month over. The boy—a man now—who, in his own quiet way, threatened all the joy and sweetness she'd found with Opie just by _being_.

_I should never have come back here_, she thought, again.

She raised her head and Opie smiled, ruefully, as though he could read her mind. He pulled away and fixed his pants before he lifted her down and helped her with her clothes.

"There's been a Fed sniffin' around. ATF, too. Don't know what they're lookin' at specifically, but with Hale's hard-on for the MC…"

He let the thought trail off and she nodded. "Whatever it is, it's not good."

"Yeah," he said, grimly. "Clay's gonna want somethin' soon. From me, I mean. Proof."

"What will you do?" she said.

He pulled his shirt back on and avoided her probing gaze. "Give it to him, I guess. Club's in my blood, too."

"Right." She bit her lip and bent to grab her boots. "Watch out for that Fed, Ope. I think he might have a hard-on for more than just the club."

He cast her a curious look. "What d'you know about it?"

She shrugged. "Why is the FBI investigating a motorcycle club in Charming, California? ATF makes sense, but the FBI? I don't know. Doesn't seem square to me."

"Huh," he said, a wry grunt. "Ain't nothin' about this _square_, baby girl."

"That's the truth," she muttered.

A silence fell between them, a brief lull of understanding that held all the things neither of them could say aloud. He cupped her face in his big hand and kissed her. It tasted like goodbye. She watched as he ambled toward the door. Paused to shrug into his jacket and kutte.

"See you tomorrow?" she said, her voice thick. "At TM?"

"Yeah, Oll," he said. His teeth gleamed in a brief smile. "Tomorrow." He went on, not looking back, and lifted his hand in a wave as he straddled his bike. The engine roared to life, shattering the late gloaming's stillness, and she shuddered at the sound.

The way he'd felt inside her, so big and thick, filling her up. His mouth on hers. His palms. The words he'd whispered in her ear. The taste of him and the scent.

She crossed her arms over her belly and cupped her elbows in either hand. "I love you, Harry," she whispered. "Come back to me."

She stood in the garage listening until the sound of his bike faded before she finally turned away. She dropped a dust cloth over the Flathead and patted a jutting bit of it. "Don't worry, buddy," she said, not feeling at all self-conscious about talking to a pulled-apart antique motorcycle. "He will. They always do."

Hoping she was right, Olivia cast one last look over her shoulder before she trudged into the empty, silent house.

* * *

_waugh waugh!_

_This chapter is a bit shorter than they have been, but honestly I just wanted to get it out to you guys._

_For the purists: early on I accidentally had Kohn's name as JEFF not JOSH, and had him as FBI rather than ATF. I thought about going back and changing it, but I figured what the fuck. It's an au, right? So there ya go._


	26. Dreams

It looks like I'm back in a groove, huh? :) To make up for the long wait last time, and the short chapter, here's a short(er) wait and a long chapter! Enjoy. :)

* * *

**but my dreams**  
**they aren't as empty**  
**as my conscience seems to be  
**The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes"

"I need more sunscreen or I'm gonna turn into a lobster," Olivia said as she flipped onto her back.

Tara pawed at the tote bag for a minute before she gave up. "Sorry, kid. On your own. It's in there somewhere."

Olivia sighed and sat up to dig for it. She found it right on the top and glared at her friend. "Lazy."

"Nah," she said with a slow grin. "Just kinda drunk." She finished off her drink and waved the waiter down for another one. After he disappeared to get it she let out a long sigh. "I'm so glad you talked me into this, Ollie. It's exactly what I needed."

She grunted as she smeared sunscreen on her arms. "What we both needed. Charming was draggin' us down, babe. Sometimes you just gotta get outta Dodge."

"No shit. God, turn around. I'll do your back."

Olivia tossed Tara the bottle and twisted to face the other way. "You're a peach."

"I'm just tryin' to impress that guy over there. He's been drooling over us for the last twenty minutes; figured I'd give him a show."

She pulled her sunglasses down and scanned the beach. He wasn't hard to spot, and Olivia giggled at his expression. "Lesbian fantasies dance in his head."

Tara laughed, rubbing the lotion into Olivia's pale skin. It was already turning pink in the bright Florida sun, and Tara really didn't want to hear her whine about sunburn later. "Okay," she finally said. "I think you're good."

"Thanks."

"Mmhmm. Don't forget your ears."

"Yes, Mom."

Tara threw a cherry at her from her newly-delivered drink, but Olivia caught it and popped it in her mouth. She settled back in the lounge chair with a sigh. The girls' trip to the Keys had been Olivia's idea, and it was one born out of desperation. She'd been moping around Charming, missing Opie, confused about Juice, stymied on her work, worried about Tara and Kohn; a real basket case, in other words.

Islamorada was about as far from Charming as you could get and still be in the continental U.S. That suited them both perfectly, and despite the long flight they'd decided on it over the much closer Mexico or beaches in California.

"We should take a selfie," Tara said. "Send it to Ope. He sees you in that bathing suit he'll come crawlin' back."

Frowning, Olivia shook her head. "Selfie, sure. We look hot as hell. But…" She trailed off with a shrug and Tara eyed her.

"You don't want him crawling back," she said after a moment.

"I want him back. Of course I do. But—it has to be…right. I mean it can't be…because I talk him into it."

"He loves you."

"I know he does."

"God, Ollie, how does this keep happening to us? These men. This fucking MC. We were both _out_! We had _lives_! And now here we are."

"They say you can't go home again."

"Oh, don't pull out cliches at me, Olivia Jameson."

She giggled and waved down the same waiter. "I need another one too, Miguel. _Por favor_."

"We should go snorkeling tomorrow," Tara said.

"I was thinking massages at the spa. Maybe facials."

"Oh I like that idea. Snorkeling Wednesday?"

"Gimme my phone. I'll call and book it."

"Ugh," Tara said. "It's in the bag somewhere. We'll do it later."

"You fuckin' lush," Olivia said.

"Guilty."

Olivia offered Miguel a smile and a tip as he returned with her drink. "Sun and alcohol don't mix with me."

"You'll be fine. I'll carry you in if you pass out."

"My hero."

"Damn straight," Tara said.

A silence fell as they drank and absorbed the sun. The guy who'd been staring at them was slowly moving closer, like a circling shark, but they both ignored him.

"Jax told Hale about Kohn," she said, suddenly and apropos of nothing.

Olivia stared at her. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

Tara shrugged and twirled the tiny pink and blue cocktail umbrella between her fingers. "I don't know. It happened a few days before we left, and I didn't want to distract from our trip planning. Anyway"—she waved a dismissive hand—"he; Hale, I mean; showed up at St. Thomas and asked why I hadn't said anything. He said he could protect me."

Olivia snorted. "Look at you. Men comin' out of the woodwork to protect you."

"Both of us," Tara said with a cynical curl of her mouth. "We're so goddamn helpless, Ollie! What would we do without these big strong men? Stabbing car radiators and enforcing restraining orders. Breaking up with us to keep us safe, because God knows we can't be trusted to make our own decisions."

"Thank goodness for their manly wisdom, Tara Grace. I'm kind of amazed we got all the way to Florida by ourselves. If we're not careful we'll step on a jellyfish and die."

"If you step on a jellyfish I promise I'll pee on you."

"Dr. Knowles, you know perfectly well peeing does nothing for a jellyfish sting. If it's water sports you're after, I'm sure Mr. Subtle over there would be happy to accommodate you."

"Unfortunately for him, the only water sports I'm interested in are snorkeling and kayaking."

"He looks heartbroken."

They shared a glance and burst out laughing. Olivia almost shot margarita out of her nose, which only made Tara laugh harder.

"Shut up, you bitch, that _hurt_!"

"You're such a fucking klutz," Tara said between giggles, nearly falling out of her chair as she tried to smack Olivia on the shoulder.

That set Olivia off again, and soon they were both holding their sides and gasping. "Oh God," Olivia said. "Gotta breathe!"

"I think maybe we've had enough," Tara said.

"Or else we need some food to soak up all the tequila."

"Back to the villa? Showers, then dinner?"

"Uh huh," Olivia said. "In a sec."

Tara cleared her throat and took a last sip of margarita. Licked salt off her lip and tossed their things in the tote bag. "Why didn't you tell Opie that Kohn's in Charming?"

Olivia swung her legs over the side of the chair and rolled her towel up. "I don't know. I guess—well, I hadn't cleared it with you first. I imagine he knows now. After the radiator-stabbing incident."

"Mmhmm." Tara tucked a twenty under their empty glasses—for Miguel—and slid her arm around Olivia's waist as they made their clumsy, staggering way back to their villa. Luckily it wasn't far from the beach.

"Maybe a nap, shower, then dinner," Olivia said.

"Lightweight."

"Lush."

"You said that already."

"Yup. Clearly I meant it." She unlocked the door and slid her sunglasses off. "Aw, look, they brought us champagne!" An ice-filled bucket held a big green bottle, and two champagne flutes waited on the kitchen counter next to it.

"Well we _are_ on our honeymoon," Tara said with a grin.

Olivia made a low noise of agreement. The honeymoon package was cheaper than just booking a villa for the week, and they got perks like chocolate and roses, plus random free surprises like this champagne. They had to share a king size bed, but that wasn't a hardship. Especially considering it meant they got the honeymoon villa, which had a beach view and an enormous bathtub.

"We'll have to save this for after dinner," Olivia said. "Champagne on top of tequila and I'll be on the floor."

"Head in the toilet."

"Uh huh. Take me to bed, Dr. Knowles. I need to pass out for an hour."

"So romantic, Mrs. Knowles. You know how to treat your wife right."

"It's not too late to go find that guy from the beach," Olivia said as she stripped off her bathing suit. She tossed the pieces over the clothesline in the bathroom and pulled on panties and a t-shirt. "I'm sure he'd wine and dine you like you deserve."

"Plus water sports," Tara said, hanging her suit next to Olivia's.

"It's a hard bonus to resist."

Tara made a face. "Look, I'm open-minded. And kinky, to an extent. But _pee_? Really?"

"Yeah, I don't know. I can't see it." Olivia pulled back the sheets and crawled into the huge bed while Tara did the same on the other side. Olivia giggled. "Did I tell you how Opie likes it rough?"

"Yes. Bitch." Tara shivered and pulled the covers up. "He's so…calm. It's almost hard to picture."

"It's like he saves up all that energy, you know? And then—bam!"

Tara sighed. "Kinda wish I'd jumped on that train at some point."

"It's not too late. You're single and I don't mind sharing."

"You're such a goddamn slut."

"Once a slut always a slut."

Olivia went quiet, and it had a weight Tara didn't like. Tara waited.

Finally, "I miss him so much," she whispered.

"He'll be back, Oll," Tara said. She scooted closer and pulled her friend against her. "I bet he misses you too. Maybe even more than you miss him. After all, you've got me and margaritas. All he's got are sulky Jax and that stupid MC."

Olivia rested her head on Tara's shoulder and closed her eyes. She could smell clean sheets and coconut. Lime and tequila and sun. The sea, a bit.

"Maybe sulky Jax and that stupid MC are what he wants."

Tara hesitated. "They are, I think. But he wants you too, Ollie. I know he does."

"You think?" Olivia said, her voice small and quiet.

"Yeah, dummy. He's not stupid, and you're a _catch_."

"I do give really good head."

Tara laughed and poked her. "That's just a bonus. A much better one than water sports."

"True." She snuggled in closer and felt herself dozing. "Love you, Tara Grace."

"Love you too, Olivia Jameson. Lightweight."

"Lush."

"Slut."

"Bitch."

Olivia grinned and let the sound of the surf and wind and the warmth of her best friend lull her to sleep.

* * *

Opie swiped a six pack from the fridge and collapsed onto the couch next to Jax. He offered him a beer, and Jax accepted with a grimace of thanks. They sipped in silence. Opie flicked the radio on, and The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" filled the space between them. Jax snorted and tossed his beer cap at the TV just to watch it bounce off the glass.

"That was some fucked up shit," Opie finally said.

"Yeah," Jax said, his voice grim.

"Is this what it's gonna be like? We killed ten people today, Jackson."

"You think I don't know that?" he said with a scowl. "You think I don't know—" He broke off and scraped a hand through his hair. "I got a kid, man. A tiny baby. I got a kid who's in the hospital fightin' with everything he's got just to _live_, and I'm spendin' my days blowin' up a bunch of rightwing nutjobs."

Opie grunted. "If you wanna be technical about it, I blew 'em up."

"Fuck, Ope," Jax said. "How the fuck did it come to this? How the fuck we'd get here? When we were kids dreamin' about bein' in this club, is this what we wanted?"

"We knew, Jax. It's a one-percenter MC. Ain't gonna be rainbows and puppy dogs."

Jax slumped in his seat and stared down at his shining white shoes. The beer bottle dangled from his hand, forgotten, and the radio switch from The Who to Led Zeppelin.

"I just don't know if I wanna bring my kid into this shit," Jax muttered. "And you and Ollie. She's good for you, brother. Real good. I see how happy she makes you. And you're fuckin' it all up with her. Because of the goddamn club."

Opie leaned forward and set his bottle on the table. He ran a hand down his face and tugged at his beard. "And Tara," he said after a moment. He didn't want to address the issue with Olivia. Whether he was fucking it up or not was subjective…though he feared Jax was right.

"Tara. She never wanted nothin' to do with this shit."

"Neither did Ollie."

Jax' head twisted toward him. "What the fuck are we doin', brother? Movin' guns. Blowin' people up. I feel like this club's gotten so far from JT's vision for it, and we get further and further every goddamn day."

"JT's vision?" Opie said, his brow creasing. "What was that, exactly?"

He shook his head and made a frustrated gesture. "Anarchy as freedom. And a balance." He recalled what JT had written in his manuscript. "_An equal mix of might and right_," he quoted. "Not this—outlaw thug shit. Shoot first ask questions later. And I'm pretty sure he didn't like the guns."

Opie studied him, his expression wary. Was that it, then? The _whatever_ that'd been weighing on Jax ever since Abel's birth. Opie had thought it was just the kid, but it sounded like he had a lot more on his mind than that.

"You talk to Clay about this?"

Jax let out a caustic laugh. "Clay's got his own agenda. He wants more guns, more action, more money. Pretty sure he ain't interested in any kind of balance."

"So what're you gonna do?"

"Don't know," Jax said with a shrug. He finished off his beer and reached for another. "Take care of my kid." He paused. "Get my woman back."

"Might wanna downplay the outlaw thug shit if that's your plan. Respectable baby surgeons don't usually go for biker gangsters."

"Neither do famous artists with fancy gallery shows in New York City."

"Yeah," Opie said. "No shit."

"She knows who you are, Ope. She's always known it. She chose to stay in town. To get involved with you. She knows the club comes with you. Package deal."

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts, man. She made her choice. She chose _you_. Don't you think you should respect that? Not try to tell her what she wants or how to live? That's a sure way to piss her off. Come on: we both know that much about her."

Opie grunted and took a pull from his bottle. "Could say the same thing to you about Tara."

"Yeah," Jax said, echoing Opie. "No shit." He huffed a laugh. "How the fuck did we end up with these stubborn, pain in the ass women? Old ladies are supposed to be biddable, ain't they? Listen to their men?"

Opie gave him a funny look. "Have you _met_ your mom?"

He conceded that with a brief tilt of his head. "Good point."

They drank, listening to Bob Seger, and as the song ended Jax frowned at Opie. "Why didn't you tell me the FBI agent was Tara's ex?"

"Didn't know till I saw him."

"Uh huh. And after that?"

He gave Jax a long look, his still face saying a thousand things. "I gave her my word."

"Tara."

"Yup. Ollie, too."

Jax clenched his teeth and tightened his hand around the bottle. "Why the fuck didn't she tell _me_?"

"Don't know. Guess she didn't want you involved."

"But she came back here. She left Chicago and came _here_, of all places."

Opie lifted his brows, and when he spoke his voice was careful and measured. "Her best friend is here. It's where she grew up. When your back's against the wall, sometimes home's the only place to go."

Jax grunted. The muscle in his jaw danced and his nostrils flared. "Hale said he was shippin' his ass home. He doesn't have any jurisdiction here. No case."

"Good," Opie said. Then, "Be careful, brother. Jurisdiction or not, he's still a Fed. And that bitch Stahl's lookin' for any excuse she can get to come down _hard_."

"I know it." He glowered a moment. "When're Oll and Tara home from Florida?"

"End of the week, I guess. Unless they decide to move there or somethin'."

"Don't even fuckin' joke, man. They _would_."

Opie grinned. "If they do, I'm runnin' off to Florida too. Blackin' out my ink and becomin' a beach bum."

Jax held up his bottle, and Opie knocked his against it. "To beach bums and hot women."

"Here here, brother."

Opie was sure Jax thought he was joking, but he wasn't. The past few weeks, ever since the night in Olivia's garage, Opie had been cursing his own stupidity. Yes, he wanted to protect Olivia. No, he didn't want to drag her into club bullshit.

But he loved her. He missed her like a lost limb. Every day he thought of things he wanted to tell her or laugh with her about. Today, after the thing with the militia, he needed her more than ever. He wanted to curl up in her bed and let her run her fingers through his hair. He wanted to hold her down and fuck her hard and deep until neither of them could think or speak, until the sound and smell of that explosion was wiped out of his head and the only thing left was _her_.

He needed the taste of her mouth and the smell of her hair and soft velvet of her skin. He would do anything, he'd realized, to keep her. He would leave the club. He would follow her to Florida.

Opie took a deep breath. He planned to talk to her about all of this when she got back. He wanted to ask her to marry him. He wanted, maybe, to try to have a kid. He'd get a job somewhere, maybe as a mechanic or selling the old bikes he fixed up, and between that and the income she made from her art they'd be fine. They could make a real life for themselves, either in Charming or away from it.

He didn't care. As long as he had her, he could live on the moon and he'd be happy.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell Jax all of this. Maybe Opie leaving would inspire him. He didn't need to be in the MC anymore. He had a kid now, like he said, and if he wanted a real shot at figuring things out with Tara he didn't need the club fucking it all up for them.

"Jax, listen," he said. No time like the present. "Grab another beer. There's somethin' we gotta talk about."

* * *

It was their last night in Florida, and neither of them wanted the trip to end. They were both tan and drowsy and a tiny bit waterlogged. Gold streaks had emerged in Olivia's copper hair, and her freckles had multiplied like well-fed tribbles. Tara had a slight sunburn across her nose and shoulders, but otherwise her skin had a sun-warmed glow.

"Do y'think," Tara said, "they rent this place by the year?"

Olivia laughed and sipped her champagne. "Don't you think it would be cheaper just to find an apartment in the village?"

"Hhmm. Probably. But I like _this_ place, our honeymoon villa."

Olivia fell back against the arm of the sofa and stared up at the beamed ceiling. The fan moved in lazy circles, and a sea-scented breeze danced in from outside. The sound of the surf was loud and soothing, like a lullaby.

"I might take one last bath," she said. "I love that tub."

Tara, at the other end of the couch, kicked Olivia's foot. "I was thinking the same thing."

She finished off her champagne with a giggle. "We could share. Save water." She was joking, of course, but the silence from Tara's end made her lift her head. "I was kidding."

"I know," Tara said with a little smile. She set her flute on the table behind her and crawled down the couch toward Olivia. Olivia watched her with widening eyes until she was above her, her hands braced on either side of Olivia's body.

"Tara…?"

"Do you ever think we should give it another shot?"

Olivia blinked. Her wits felt muddled from alcohol, sun, and the teasing scent of Tara's subtle perfume. She was so close Olivia could see the gold flecks in her eyes. Count the tiny scatter of freckles across her red nose. "Give—what—another shot?"

Tara laughed and brushed her nose against Olivia's jaw. "Us. I don't mean a _relationship_. I love you, but not like that."

"Ohh," she said on a breath. She wiggled, and Tara shifted her weight so that her hips came to rest on Olivia's. Her leg somehow found its way between Olivia's thighs, and while she was still contemplating _that_, Tara started softly kissing her neck.

"Oh," Olivia whispered again. Then, "Tara Grace. Tara! What are you—Tara!" Her hand had worked its way under Olivia's t-shirt, and her long fingers tickled the soft skin on Olivia's tummy.

"Just for tonight," Tara murmured. She bit Olivia's jaw. Kissed her way to her mouth and hovered there. Olivia could taste the champagne on her breath. "What happens on our honeymoon stays on our honeymoon, right?"

"Uh huh," Olivia managed. She felt drugged, hazy and floating. "Are you sure, though? I thought you…weren't into it."

Tara shrugged and pushed Olivia's shirt a little higher. "I might have gotten into it. Over the course of the week. I've been thinking about it for a while. We're here. The boys are far away. We can do this, have some fun together, some comfort and company, and not have it get weird." She hesitated. "If you don't want to, though…"

"Nooo," Olivia said. "That's not it. At all. I just want to make sure this isn't the alcohol talking."

She laughed and kissed Olivia, long and slow and sweet. Olivia made a soft hum of pleasure and Tara deepened the kiss. Her free hand stroked Olivia's arm, and Olivia's fingers tangled themselves in Tara's dark hair.

"Yes?" Tara said as she pulled away. Her voice was breathy, and it made Olivia's pulse spike.

"Yes," Olivia said. "Yeah, yes."

"Good." Tara kissed her again, harder, fisting a hand in her hair and rocking against her. Olivia moaned, just a little, and Tara laughed. "Bedroom?"

"Yes," Olivia said again, this time with a fervent nod.

Tara slipped off the couch and offered Olivia her hand, and they stumbled toward the bedroom, laughing and kissing along the way. Tara stopped her by the bed and cupped her face in her hands. They stood for a long time pressed together from mouth to thigh.

"You taste so good," Tara whispered, drunkenly.

"So do you," Olivia said. She started to reach for her shirt, but Tara stopped her.

"Let me," she said. At Olivia's nod, Tara tugged at the hem and pulled the t-shirt over her head. She had on her bathing suit underneath, and Tara took a moment to kiss the swell of breast above each cup of Olivia's top. "So many freckles!"

"The damn sun."

"It's beautiful. You're beautiful, Ollie." She untied the top and it slid to the floor. Tara glanced up at her with a smile. "Can I?"

Olivia laughed, a brief, sweet, giddy sound. "Whatever you want, Tara. I trust you."

She smiled and ran her knuckles down Olivia's sternum, between her breasts. She shivered, and then gasped as Tara ducked to kiss a nipple. She flicked her tongue against it, back and forth, and Tara echoed Olivia's mew of pleasure with one of her own. Tara sucked the nipple into her mouth and rolled it between her lips as Olivia carded her fingers through Tara's hair.

"That's good, that's so good!" Olivia murmured.

Grinning, Tara kissed her way to Olivia's other breast. She licked over and around the nipple until Olivia wiggled with impatience, then she straightened. "Not yet, greedy. First—" She untied Olivia's sarong-style skirt and circled her, her fingertips trailing over Olivia's skin so that she shivered.

"So pretty," Tara said. She kissed Olivia's shoulders. Gave her ass a smack that made Olivia yelp. "You've been undressing in front of me all week. No big deal, just give Tara a show." She slid her hands around Olivia's middle and pressed against her back. "I bet you weren't expecting this to happen."

"Nope," Olivia said, gasping a little as Tara nipped her neck. "Just figured you could handle seein' my tits without flippin' out."

Tara laughed and ran her palms up to cup them. She squeezed and Olivia whimpered. "I can," she said. "Anyone else's, I totally could. But this is you. And me. And…"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain. I know. Believe me."

Tara concentrated on licking and kissing Olivia's neck, down to the curve of her shoulder, while she wiggled out of her bathing suit bottoms. Now Olivia's naked body was pressed against Tara's fully clothed one, and Olivia decided that wasn't exactly fair.

Olivia twisted to face her, a wicked smile curving her full mouth. "Your turn, Dr. Knowles." Olivia backed up until her thighs hit the bed, and she boosted herself onto it. "Strip, lovely. Let me see you."

Color flooded Tara's cheeks and her breath came in short, uneven puffs as she pulled her shirt over her head. Her sapphire blue bathing suit set off her skin and eyes perfectly, and Olivia bit her lip as her eyes heated.

"More," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Tara whispered. She dropped her shorts and kicked them away, then unfastened her top. Quickly, before she could think about it, she slipped out of her bottoms, too, and stood naked and blushing. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest, and when Olivia crooked a finger at her she shuffled closer.

"Think it's time I got my mouth on you," Olivia said. "You're gorgeous." She kissed the curve of Tara's breast. Between them, over her heart. The hollow of her throat where her pulse pounded. "Perfect."

She trailed her tongue over Tara's nipple and back again before she closed her lips around it. She sucked, gently, and Tara whimpered.

"Ollie! Like that!"

Olivia sat up and scooted back on the bed. "Come here, sweet girl. Let's get comfy."

Tara followed with a dizzy nod, and as they kissed she pressed tight against Olivia. They rolled so that Tara was on top, and when Olivia's thigh slotted between hers they both gasped.

"God you're so wet," Olivia whispered.

"I told you," she said between fervent kisses. "I've been thinking about this for a while."

Olivia giggled. "You tramp."

"Uh huh. I learn from the best." She pinched and tugged Olivia's nipple. Rolled it between her fingers while she sucked Olivia's lower lip.

"Tell me what you want, love," Olivia said. "My mouth?"

"Yes. God, yes, but first…" She took Olivia's hand and guided it between her thighs. "Make me come, Ollie. Make me come while I kiss you."

She let out a hard breath and stroked a fingertip over Tara's slick lips. "Yes, ma'am," she said.

Tara moaned and grabbed a handful of Olivia's hair. Kissed her hard, her tongue plunging in and out of her mouth as Olivia skimmed across Tara's clit. It was swollen and throbbing and Tara wiggled against Olivia's hand.

"Please," she breathed. "Please, I need it. Want it. Want _you_, Ollie sweetheart. Don't tease. Can't take teasing, not now."

With a smirk Olivia spread her fingers to stroke Tara's pussy. She plunged them inside and Tara's back arched. "Like that?"

"Fuck yes! Please, baby, please!"

Her free hand squeezed and kneaded Tara's hip. They swallowed each other's moans as they kissed. Olivia curled her fingers inside; the heel of her hand ground on Tara's clit, and she rocked her hips with a needy whine.

"So good," Tara panted. "So good, so good!" She was getting close already, the heat building in her thighs and belly, and she spared a brief moment to wonder what had been wrong with her in high school that she hadn't responded to Olivia's kisses. This time it had taken one, the first one on the couch, and she'd immediately felt that dizzying rush that meant _more now_.

"Come for me, Tara love," Olivia said. She bit Tara's earlobe and sucked. "You feel so good, so hot and wet. Come all over my hand, sweet girl."

"Fuck, Ollie, Ollie, that's it, just like that! Right there! Oh God keep—fuck—that—!"

Olivia worked her fingers against Tara's G-spot, and the muscles in Tara's thighs danced against Olivia's. "That's good, baby, that's so good." She kissed Tara's neck, sucking gently, and Tara bucked into her. Their sweat-slicked skin slipped and slid, and they rocked together in a desperate, hungry rhythm.

Tara clenched a handful of sheet and let out a long, high keen. "Ollie!" she cried. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop!" Her body went taut and her spine bowed and her face scrunched. Olivia worked her through it, whispering encouragement in her ear as she rubbed her G-spot with firm, steady strokes.

"Oh God!" Tara whimpered. "Oh God, oh fuck, oh goddamn!" It was overwhelming, brain-scrambling, and all Tara could do was hold on and ride it out. Finally, finally the orgasm started to taper off, and her forehead fell to land on Olivia's shoulder as she panted and whimpered.

"Good?" Olivia said, mouthing sweat from Tara's temple.

"Jesus Christ," she said. Another shudder rocked her and Olivia slowly withdrew her hand. "Is it always like that with girls?"

Olivia grinned. "Nah. Not always. But we know each other pretty well, so…"

"Right," Tara said. She moaned and rolled over onto her back. "God." She watched, wide-eyed, as Olivia sucked a slick finger into her mouth.

"Wanna taste?" she said.

Tara nodded and tugged Olivia's hand closer. She brushed her fingertip over Tara's lip, then leaned in for a hungry kiss. Tara sucked Olivia's finger into her mouth and they both groaned.

"Give me just a sec," she said. "Just a sec and I'll lick your pussy."

"You don't have to, love. If you don't want to."

Tara glared a moment before she tackled Olivia and pinned her to the bed. "I want to. I've never licked a pussy before, but I'm pretty familiar with mine, so hopefully I'll do okay."

Olivia laughed, breathlessly, and wiggled against her. "I'm sure you'll do great. You've always been a perfectionist."

Smirking, Tara dipped her head to kiss Olivia long and hot. "Damn straight, baby girl. Now look who's gonna benefit from it."

"Yes, please," she said. "I'm _dripping_ for you, Tara Grace."

"Oh I know." She flashed an evil grin and dragged her tongue up the side of Olivia's neck. She blew a cool stream of air against the heated skin and Olivia squirmed. "But you're gonna have to wait, my greedy, impatient little Ollie. I plan to take my time." Tara bit the curve of her shoulder. "Tease." Lapped at her collarbones. "_Savor_."

Olivia let out a moan and fell back against the pillow. It was a long, long time before she finally came, and she enjoyed every agonizing, drawn-out second of it. When the orgasm finally hit it left her wrung out and spent, but Tara didn't let up.

She'd always known her best friend had a wicked streak, but until that night she hadn't realized just _how_ wicked. Olivia got her revenge, though, and by the time they finally collapsed into a panting, sweating, boneless heap, they'd both lost track of their orgasms.

"Ready for that bath?" Tara said between gasps. "Or round…" She counted on her fingers until Olivia grabbed her hand and yanked her close again.

"Insatiable slut," she said, a husky, laughing murmur.

"God yes."

"Good, Dr. Knowles. That's exactly how I like you. At least for tonight."

* * *

_O.O_

_I bet y'all didn't see THAT comin'! Like they said, it's just one night, but fuck it. I wanted to write it._

_I've completely changed my original plans for this story's ending, so with that change I've found myself able to write more easily. Look forward to faster updates again, my loves!_


	27. Away From Me

Thanks for sticking with me, you guys. I'm on a bit of a roll now. :)

* * *

**and the moon is splashed right over the street**  
**like my tears on your thighs so pale**  
**it's just you and me in the sheets**  
**and the whole wide world feel like a jail**  
**when you're away from me  
**David Gray, "The Light"

It was a two hour drive from Islamorda to Miami, a six hour flight to San Francisco, and another two plus hours to Charming. By the time they finally crossed the Charming town line both women were exhausted and ready to sleep for a year. Their tiredness was compounded by a general lack of sleep from the night before, but neither of them complained about that.

Olivia turned the corner onto Tara's street and slowed down. "Who's that?" she said with a nod toward the car in Tara's driveway.

Tara said nothing, and when Olivia glanced at her, her face was hard and set, her eyes furious.

"Kohn?" Olivia said. "Seriously? I thought Hale sent him back to Chicago!"

"I guess not," Tara said through gritted teeth.

"Okay." Olivia fished her phone from her purse. "We call him now. We go to my place and let Hale deal with him."

"No." Tara grabbed her hand before she could dial. "No, that won't help anything. I need to handle this myself. He needs to know I'm not afraid to stand up to him and that he can't get away with pushing me around anymore."

"Tara—"

She squeezed Olivia's wrist and gave her an imploring look. "Please, Ollie. I have to do this."

Olivia chewed on her lip, but at last she nodded. "Fine. But you're not going in there alone."

Tara hesitated a moment before she relented. "Let me do the talking."

"That's fine. I'm just here for backup."

Olivia parked along the street and helped Tara with her luggage. Kohn's car was empty, and there was a light on in the house. "Motherfucker's makin' himself right at home," Olivia said.

Tara left her suitcases on the porch and let them into the house; dropped her purse on the table by the door and cast Kohn a bored look. He rose from the couch the moment he heard the door, and his face fell into lines of consternation when he saw Olivia come in behind Tara.

"Tara. There you are! I was worried. Where have you been?"

"Vacation. You need to leave," she said, shortly.

He frowned over Tara's shoulder at Olivia. "I was hoping we could talk alone, sweetheart. I'm afraid your friend might have the wrong idea about me. Might be influencing you against me."

Tara snorted and shook her head. "I don't need Ollie for that, asshole. Leave, or I call the cops."

"Who? That puffed-up wannabe? Thinks he's cock on the wall because he's the deputy chief in some hick backwater. He doesn't really scare me."

Olivia ducked her head to hide her smile at the rather accurate description of David Hale. "Cock on the wall or not," she said, "he still has a badge, and this hick backwater is still his town. You don't have any jurisdiction here, and you broke into Tara's house."

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Tara, honey, would you please send your friend away? I want to talk to you. Just us. I want to talk about our baby. I told you before I wasn't mad—"

"It wasn't _our baby_!" Tara said, some of her control snapping. "It was a clump of cells in _my_ body. And if you think I would _ever_ want to make a child with _you_—" She broke off and turned her head away. "I don't have anything else to say to you."

Kohn tried to follow her as she headed for the kitchen, but Olivia cut him off. "She asked you to leave. You should do that."

He leered down at her, an expression of such contempt she had to fight the urge to stumble back. "This is none of your business, little girl. Why don't you take your toys and go home? Leave the adults to their adult business."

"Olivia. He's not worth it," Tara said from the kitchen doorway. She had a tumbler in her hand and sipped at the amber-colored liquid with a grimace.

Kohn glared past Olivia like she had ceased to exist, and something about his expression put her on guard. His hands clenched into fists and his nostrils flared, just a little. Color rose on his cheeks. The tiny alarm bell that had been dinging inside Olivia's head since they pulled onto Tara's street turned into a full-on siren.

"Tara," he said, his voice condescending and soft, "what have I told you about drinking? I don't like it. It's vulgar."

"Jeff. Get it through your head. I don't give a _fuck_ what you think. Not anymore."

He growled, low in his throat, but Tara seemed unconcerned.

"Don't do anything stupid," Olivia said. "We called the cops before we came in."

"You're bluffing," he said.

"Want to test that theory?"

He lunged at her, faster than she would've thought possible, and she tripped in her haste to get away. He went for Tara, but Olivia let out a rough cry and tackled him. He had nearly a foot in height on her, and he threw her off like a bothersome chihuahua. Her bad hip caught the doorjamb and she groaned as she rolled to the floor with a graceless crash.

"Ollie!" Tara cried. The glass fell from her hand, forgotten, and she barely noticed when it shattered. Kohn's hand closed around her throat, turning her cry into a choking gurgle.

"You stupid bitch," he said, panting. "You thought you could get away? Don't you know you're _mine_? I love you, Tara! I love you more than anyone ever will!"

Tara's face was turning crimson. Dark spots swirled at the edge of her vision, and the pain in her throat was like a fire. He would kill her. In her own living room. And once she was dead he'd go for Ollie. Tara tried to kick, but he dodged the feeble swings with a vicious laugh.

"Mine, Tara Grace. Always!"

There was a crash—it sounded very far away to Tara, and she thought she must be back in Florida, because she swore she could hear the ocean—and abruptly the pressure on her neck eased. She sagged to the ground, choking and coughing, and then Olivia was there. Everything moved in slow motion. She could see Olivia's lips moving, but she couldn't hear her.

_What?_ she tried to say. Nothing happened when she opened her mouth, and the air whistled through her throat like through a straw.

"We have to go," Olivia said. "Tara, please, come on!"

She was screaming, and the desperation in her voice finally managed to trickle through Tara's confusion. Tara tried to speak again, but a coughing fit doubled her over.

"Don't talk," Olivia said. "Just—" She slipped an arm around Tara's waist and struggled to get her to her feet. They took a staggering step. Olivia stopped to brace a hand on the wall. Her face was white, and it was clear she couldn't support Tara's weight.

Behind them Kohn groaned. Tara turned her head (her neck aching) and almost smiled. He was sprawled on the floor, and the remains of the vase that had been on her side table were scattered around him. Blood trickled from his temple.

"You got him," Tara croaked.

"Yeah, I did. Now we've gotta call Hale and get the fuck out of here."

Tara grabbed her hand and together they limped-stumbled for the door. Olivia was reaching for the knob when a roar sounded behind them.

They both spun. Olivia's hip caught and she fell against the door with a pained cry. Kohn charged them, a jagged bit of glass clutched in one bleeding hand.

Some form of auto-pilot kicked in. Tara reached into her purse—just beside her, where she'd dropped it when they walked in—and her hand found the gun Gemma had given her weeks ago. She'd forgotten it was in there until this moment, and now it felt like it had been waiting for her. She raised it, calmly, and Kohn didn't slow.

She pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening in the small space, but it did the job. He lurched back, hands clutching his middle and expression stunned.

"You bitch," he gasped. "You fuckin' shot me!"

Horrified, Tara dropped the gun and raised shaking hands to her face. What had she done? She shot him. A Fed. There was blood everywhere. Next to her, Olivia struggled to her feet and grabbed Tara's shoulder.

"I shot him!" Tara gasped.

"No shit. We have to call Hale. It was self defense."

"Stop with the cops, Ollie! The cops can't help us! I _shot_ him!"

"Tara! He broke into your house! He attacked us! He was coming at us with that fucking glass like it was a goddamn machete!"

"You hit him with a vase!"

"After he threw me into a wall!"

"We can't call the cops. Self defense or not. You think they're gonna love the idea of you being involved in your _second_ domestic disturbance that ended in murder? And murderers aren't exactly in demand as neonatal surgeons."

"He's not dead!" Olivia was nearly hysterical. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice. "Tara. If we get him to a hospital—"

"No!" Tara said. She set her jaw and lifted her chin. "I'm calling Jax. Go in the kitchen; there's duct tape in the cabinet by the fridge."

Olivia stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Tara Grace—"

"Do it, Ollie!" Her face softened, and she cupped Olivia's jaw in her hand. "Please. Just listen to me."

After a moment Olivia gave a stuttering nod, and, without another word, she limped toward the kitchen. Her gait was uneven, the pain in her leg compounded by exhaustion, and Tara watched her go with a worried frown. She shook her head and retrieved her phone before she stalked toward Kohn. He was curled on the floor groaning in pain. Blood was splattered and streaked all around him. Tara shuddered in disgust.

She crouched next to him and flipped him onto his back. Her eyes were steady on his as she hit the button for Jax' speed dial. "I need you," she said when he answered. "My house. Please hurry. And—bring Opie. Ollie's gonna need a ride home."

Olivia reappeared, duct tape in hand. Tara waved her over and together they first gagged Kohn, then wrapped tape around his ankles and wrists.

"We can't leave him in the middle of your living room," Olivia said.

Tara grimaced and grabbed him under the arms. She nodded toward his legs, and after a brief hesitation Olivia took his feet. They half carried, half dragged him into the hall closet. Tara taped a towel around his middle to absorb the blood and shut the door on his pleading face.

"The blood," Olivia said.

"I'll deal with it later."

"It'll need bleach."

"I know," Tara said. She took Olivia's hands in hers and squeezed. "We'll be okay, Ollie."

Olivia freed one hand and her fingers fluttered toward the ugly marks on Tara's throat. "You need ice." She shivered once, hard, and Tara wrapped her arms around her.

"You're going into shock," she said.

"So are you," Olivia said through chattering teeth.

"Maybe." Tara shuddered in her arms. "Maybe, yeah."

They stood locked together, shaking like a pair of leaves, until a knock at the door startled them both. "Oh God," Olivia whispered.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's probably Jax and Opie."

"Opie?!"

"You need someone to drive you home, babe. There's no way you can make it on your own." She tucked a lock of hair behind Olivia's ear. "Stay here. I'll go check."

Olivia followed anyway. She didn't want to be so close to the closet. There was blood…so much blood…and the smell of it made her sick. She closed her eyes and, vivid as though it were happening this second, she remembered the sensation of sinking the knife into TJ Flanary's back. The gunshot, the sound and smell of it. Juice's groan of pain mingling with TJ's. Blood everywhere. The carpet. The bed. Coating her hands like macabre gloves—!

Her eyes flew open with a yelp, and at Tara's concerned look she tried to muster a smile. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm okay. I'm fine."

Tara checked the peephole and glanced back at Olivia before she opened the door. Jax started inside, but stopped when the sight of them fully registered.

"What the fuck?" he said.

Tara ignored him for the moment. "Opie, take Ollie home. Don't just drop her off. Go in with her. Make sure she stays warm, and get some ice for her hip."

"What the hell happened here?" Opie said, his eyes wide as he surveyed the wrecked living room.

"Never mind that," Tara said. Her voice was strong but hoarse, and Jax stared at her in an odd combination of fury, bewilderment, and concern. "Just get Ollie home."

Opie's attention snapped to Olivia, and immediately the carnage was forgotten. She looked tiny and frail, like a wisp. Her eyes were huge and dark in her chalky face, and there was blood on her hands.

"Ollie?" he said. She didn't move or acknowledge his presence. "Olivia!"

She jerked like he'd hit her, and her eyes found his like she was returning from far far away. "Opie?"

"Okay, sweetheart," he said, his voice impossibly gentle. "Let's get you home. You look like you could use a hot bath."

Her lower lip trembled and her face creased. "Opie, I—"

"It's okay. You don't gotta say anything." He lifted her in his arms like she weighed nothing, and with a brief nod at Tara and Jax swept her outside. He had driven them in his truck, and he left it for Jax and went to her car. Got her bundled into the passenger side and walked around to the driver's side. He was fiddling with the seat when Jax appeared.

Opie checked to make sure Olivia was okay before he trotted to him. "She tell you what happened?"

Jax shook his head. "Somethin' to do with Kohn, I think. Get Ollie home and look after her. I'll take care of whatever this is."

Opie gave a quiet snort. "One thing you can say about these women: life's never dull with them around."

"No shit," Jax said. He clapped Opie on the shoulder. "I'll call you later, check in."

"Yeah, brother. Take care."

"You too."

* * *

All was quiet at Olivia's house. He'd mowed the yard once while she was gone, and the flowers nodded happily in their beds. A security light was on in the hall; it seemed to give her a start as he pushed the door open.

"It's okay," he said. "It's the lamp you left on."

"Right," she murmured. "That's right."

He took her straight to the bathroom and set her on the cool tile. She held onto him a moment before she pushed away to stand on her own. Her expression was puzzled as she looked around and realized where she was.

"Tara said to get you into a hot bath," he said. "Is that okay?" She hadn't, exactly, but it was the quickest way to get her warm.

She gave a vague nod, and he left her there while he messed with the bathtub taps. "Could you help me get undressed?" she said.

"Uh, yeah. Of course." He steadied her while she peeled her jeans off. A nasty bruise was already starting on her hip, and he winced when he saw it.

"I hit the—the jamb. The edge of the—door," she said.

He nodded silently and helped her with her t-shirt. She reached back to unclasp her bra and hissed in pain. "I got it," he said. "Just relax; I got it."

His eyes widened: there were marks on her chest, almost like—

"Olivia?"

"Tara," she said, wearily. "We slept together. Last night." She had no idea how he might react, but she was a bit too tired and shell-shocked to summon much interest.

"Oh…" he said, for lack of anything better.

She glanced up at him, a trace of wry amusement curving her mouth. "One time thing. Or, at least, one _night_ thing. Just blowing off some steam."

"Oh," he said again. He turned away to stop the water, his cheeks burning. So she'd slept with Tara. What was the big deal? They weren't exactly together right now anyway, and she said it was just a one time thing. She wasn't leaving him for Tara, for fuck's sake.

"Opie?" she said. She touched his arm, and he cast her a look over his shoulder. She swallowed back sudden tears. "Harry, please…don't be angry. I can't—I need you, Harry. Not just right now, but—always. I want you to come back to me. Please—" She broke off as a sob choked her. "Please come back," she breathed.

"Sweetheart." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. His fingers combed through her hair and his shirt grew damp as she cried. "Baby love. I wasn't goin' anywhere. I swear, Ollie. I love you so goddamn much. I just want you to be safe."

She coughed out a laugh. "I don't need you to find trouble for me, Harry. I do that just fine on my own."

"Yeah," he said, dryly, "I noticed." He kissed her forehead. "Come on, before the water gets cold." He helped her in, and she drew in a sharp breath at the heat. Once she was settled he started to leave, but she didn't let go of his hand.

"Stay? Please?"

"Sure," he said. He lowered the lid on the toilet and sat. She worked shampoo through her hair, but when he offered to help she shook her head. He understood: she needed to feel clean, and it had to be by her own hands.

"Kohn was waiting for her when we got there," Olivia said, her voice hollow and tired.

"You don't gotta tell me about it."

"I need to," she said. "I need to tell someone."

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "Okay," he said. "I'm listenin'."

She told him the whole story, from the moment they rounded the corner onto Tara's street until he and Jax knocked on the door. She didn't spare him anything. When she described hitting the wall, he winced in sympathy. He had to fight the urge to smile when she told him about the vase.

By the time the story was done the water had long since grown cold, and she shivered a little.

"I'm not doin' a great job of keepin' you warm," he said with a frown. "Let's get you outta there."

She offered him both hands, and he pulled her out easily. Dried her like she might shatter and helped her dress for bed. She didn't want him to carry her this time, so instead he walked behind, hovering like a mother hen until she got to the bed. She crawled into it, stiff as an old woman, and he pulled the covers up over her.

"Stay here," he said, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "I'll make you some tea and get ice for that hip."

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured. Her eyelids grew heavy even as he watched, and he thought she might be asleep by the time he got back.

"I'll be right back," he said and hurried away.

In the kitchen he put the kettle on and dropped a teabag into her favorite mug. He was in the middle of packing the ice when the fury hit him. He grappled with it, but it was too much. Too huge, a rushing tide of rage. He smashed his fist into the fridge, cursed, and applied the icepack to his own knuckles. He gripped the counter with his uninjured hand and took huge gulps of air in through his mouth.

Goddamn him. How dare that fucker put hands on _his_ woman. Hurt her. Frighten her. If Jax didn't take care of him, Opie swore he would rip Kohn's head off with his own bare hands, Fed or not. Fuck the FBI. No one laid a hand on Olivia like that. No one.

The kettle whistled, startling him, and he shook his head to clear the red haze that coated his vision. Jax would deal with Kohn. He'd laid hands on Jax' woman too, after all—for all they hadn't been together in almost fifteen years—and he would be just as enraged as Opie.

Calmer now, he poured the hot water, packed another ice bag, and headed for the bedroom. She was awake, but barely. He set the mug on the nightstand and lifted the sheet to apply the towel-wrapped ice to her hip and thigh.

"Get in bed with me?" she said, twisting her head to look at him. "I can't really—" She blushed. "But I want…I want you here."

"Yeah, of course." He stripped down to his shorts and crawled in next to her. His arms went around her gingerly, and he was stiff and tense as he pulled her close, alert and ready to freeze at any sign of pain or distress. He'd never felt so big and clumsy as he did at that moment: she felt so fragile, tiny, and if he hurt her he'd never forgive himself.

"Relax, big guy," she said. "I'm okay."

"You're not," he growled. "You're not okay. That motherfucker—I shoulda killed him in Chicago. Should never've let him follow Tara here."

"Opie." She kissed the center of his chest, over the reaper. "That wouldn't have solved anything. You'd be in jail and I'd be here pining for you."

"Pining?" he said, trying not to grin.

"Straight up _pining_. Wasting away. Writing terrible poetry and long, torrid letters full of declarations of love and devotion."

"To me? In prison?"

"I considered sending them to Tom Cruise, but I got over him at age seventeen. Yes, you big dummy. To you in prison."

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. "You're so mean."

"Am not. You're just very very silly." She nestled closer, fitting her head under his chin and pressing her cheek over his heart. The strong, steady beat of it seemed eternal. Opie. Her redwood. Tall and strong and _always_. "I love you so much," she whispered.

"I love you too. Even if you did fuck your best friend on your recent Florida vacation."

"That wasn't exactly how I meant to tell you," she said through a sigh.

There was a short silence. Then, quietly, "_Were_ you planning to tell me?"

"Ahh…" She shifted. Winced. "Yes. Probably. I'm tired of secrets."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She leaned back until she could see his face. "Are you mad?"

"I…" He turned it over and over in his mind. She slept with Tara. With Tara. Her best friend since they were, what? Two? They'd already shared just about everything else. Sex just seemed like…another step along the way.

"No," he said at last. "You're not in love with her, are you?"

"Harry! No. Nothing's changed, really, except now we've licked each other's pussies."

He cleared his throat. "Oll, ya know…"

She giggled and kissed his nose. "I love you, dummy."

"I love you too, meanie."

"You're not a dummy," she said, her expression turning serious. "You know I don't really think that, right?"

"I know," he said. "You're not really mean, either."

She sighed and snuggled in again. "Sometimes I am," she said.

He disagreed, but he also knew there was no point in arguing with her. Instead he stroked her hair and closed his eyes. She was small and warm against him, and the scent of her shampoo enveloped them. It had been a month since that day in her garage, and he'd missed her almost every second of it.

"Oll. There's somethin' I gotta tell you."

She stirred from a half-doze. "Something bad?"

"No," he said. "Somethin' good. Or…I hope it's good. I think it's good."

He pulled back and her expression was apprehensive. He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, long and slow. "Baby, listen. I made a decision. I don't ever wanna let the MC come between us again. You're mine, Ollie."

Her brow furrowed and she lifted up onto her elbow. "Opie, what're you saying?"

He took a deep breath and brushed her hair off her face. "I'm gonna patch out, Olivia. I already talked to Jax about it. He's not real happy; big surprise; but he understands. I'm gonna bring it to table soon."

She studied his face for a long time, her eyes roaming over the familiar, beloved lines of it. He meant it. He really meant it.

He took her silence for disbelief and hastened to fill it. "I'd do it now, but with Jax's kid and…he asked me if I'd wait until he knows for sure Abel's out of the woods. Until he can bring Abel home. I told him I would, but if you want me to do it sooner—"

"No," she said. He made a face and she breathed out a sigh that was almost a laugh. "Wait until you're ready. A few weeks won't make or break anything."

"You sure? I'll go right now—"

"Opie." She took his head in her hands and kissed him. "Harry. Love. You really want this?"

"Yeah, Oll," he murmured against her mouth. "I do. I want _you_. I want you safe. I want a life together. We can't do that while I'm involved with the club. It's too dangerous." He paused and pressed his forehead against hers. "Jax tried to talk me out of it. Told me he wants to take the club in a different direction. Go legit."

Olivia frowned. "What about Clay?"

"That was my argument. Yeah, Jax is in line to be the next president, but Clay's got a few years left in him. His arthritis ain't great, and once it gets too bad he won't be able to ride. But who knows how long that'll be? I don't wanna wait.

"I'm done, Oll," he said. "I'm makin' a choice, and I choose you. We can go wherever you want. Leave Charming. Go to New York, or somewhere else back east so you can be closer to your dad. Anything you want, just as long as you take me with you."

She was stunned, like he'd hit her over the head. Leaving the MC. "Kiss me, Harry," she said, her voice rough. "Don't stop kissing me."

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you want." He pulled her in close and kissed her nose. Her cheeks. Her jaw. She giggled when he blew a raspberry against her neck.

"Opie!"

"You said to kiss you. You didn't specify how."

"Hhhmm. I have a few other ideas, but they might have to wait until I'm a little less bruised and battered."

"Don't worry, baby love," he said. "We got forever."

* * *

_Honestly, y'all._

_I kinda hope Jax decides to follow Opie out. I guess we'll see._

_And what about our dear Juicykins?! Hhmm. Tune in next time for more!_


	28. Whole Again

Thanks for all your kind words, and for sticking with me through all the delays and etc. :) xoxo

* * *

**everything in 2's**  
**you often lose**  
**you make me whole again**  
**everything in 2's**  
**you never knew**  
**you'd make me whole again  
**Better Than Ezra, "Everything in 2's"

Olivia was so stiff and sore she could barely get out of bed the next day. Opie carried her to the bathtub again, but when he offered to stay with her she sent him on to work.

"You don't need to hover, Ope. I'm fine."

He scowled and helped her tie her hair into a bun on top of her head. "You don't _seem_ fine. You're black and blue all over, and you're walkin' like you're eighty."

"Kinda feel eighty," she said with a brief quirk of her lips.

That didn't help. "Oll—"

"Opie. Sweetheart. It's okay. Go to work. Watch Jax's ass." She paused. "I'm not sure I want to know what happened to Kohn."

"No," he said, briefly. "I'm sure you don't."

She let out a long breath. "I'm just gonna hang around here today. Won't be working, because I'm not sure I could lift the torch. If I need anything I'll call. I promise."

He wasn't happy about it, but eventually he gave in. "Fine. You need _anything_, Ollie, _anything_, pick up the phone. Okay?"

"Yes, mother hen. I promise."

He came back in once he was dressed and bent for a long kiss. "I love you," he said, stroking her hair.

"I love you too, big guy. Come home to me."

"Always," he said.

She settled back in the tub and closed her eyes, and a few minutes later she heard the truck's rumbling engine. He'd probably head home to get his bike before he went to the garage. She hoped they didn't have anything too wild on the agenda for today. Opie didn't seem as steady as he would like her to think.

The water was getting cold, so Olivia slowly, painfully lifted herself out of the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. The cotton felt harsh against her skin, rougher than it should, and she gave a brief hiss of pain and annoyance before she shuffled toward the bedroom.

She put on one of Opie's big SAMCRO tees and a pair of his boxers—underwear was out of the question—and crawled back in bed. A short search unearthed some old pain pills she'd gotten after an accident with the blowtorch had left her arm a little scorched.

She knocked back two, pulled the covers to her chin, and was asleep almost before she got fully snuggled in.

The sun on her face woke her several hours later. She grumbled, wiggled, groaned at the catch in her side, and tried to ignore her full bladder and empty belly. Her body was insistent, however, and with another groan she dragged herself out of bed. This time after leaving the bathroom she made her slow, unsteady way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

The fridge was largely empty. She wasn't hungry anyway, despite the noises her stomach made. Wandering out of the kitchen, she settled on the couch in a numb, disinterested sort of way. The kettle whistled, but she ignored it. Couldn't quite figure out what it was, really.

She scrubbed both hands over her face, and when she pulled them away again they were shaking. Yesterday's events played over on a loop in her head. They never should've gone in the house. Never should've come home from Florida. Somehow the MC's violence oozed and crept into every crack and crease of life in Charming. Hers. Tara's. Donna's.

All through high school they'd claimed they didn't want anything to do with SAMCRO, and yet. Here they were. Donna and Opie were split, but there was still a connection there and always would be. Tara's first call when things went to hell was Jax. Olivia's was Opie.

And there was Juice, of course. Waited so long to prospect because he was waiting for her, but now full patch and ready to rumble.

She chuckled at the image and tried to snap her fingers, _West Side Story_ style, but her hands felt big and clumsy, her fingers swollen like sausages. She stared at them for a while, but they _looked_ normal, small hands and long fingers and golden freckles. Pale skin and blue veins and bones and muscles and tendons under it all.

Maybe two of those pills had been one too many.

A knock on the door startled her so badly she almost fell off the sofa. She didn't want to answer the door. Didn't want to see anyone or hear anyone else's voice. That weird shriek was still coming from the kitchen, and it was starting to annoy her.

"Olivia?" a voice called through the door. "You okay in there? I hear the kettle."

The kettle! That was it. And the voice…Juice's. What was Juice doing here?

"Liv, I'm comin' in. Okay? Don't shoot me." He pushed the door open and peeked his head in. She stared back with huge eyes, and he frowned when he saw her. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

She just shook her head, silent. Her face was ghost-pale, her eyes dark, and circles surrounded them like bruises. On second glance he thought maybe they _were_ bruises.

"Lemme get the tea before it burns the house down." He shrugged out of his kutte and yanked his boots off before he hurried across the living room. A few moments later the awful scream stopped, and Olivia let out a soft sigh of relief. When Juice returned he had a steaming mug in his hand. He set it on the table in front of her and slowly lowered himself onto the other end of the couch.

"Tara called me," he said at her look. "She said she tried to call you but you didn't answer. She was worried. Because of yesterday. She said she thought…well. She didn't tell me much, but she said she thought I might be able to help. Listen, anyway."

Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She didn't seem to notice. "I can't stop seeing it," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"You wanna tell me?" he said. His face was scrunched in concern, his dark eyes warm. "I'm guessin' it's a…a TJ thing."

"Does it happen to you, Juicy? Like when—when you have to do something violent with the club, do you remember that night? It's like I'm back there. The sounds, the smells, everything."

He shifted his weight and scooted a little closer. "My mom made me go to therapy. After. The doctor said shit like that was PTSD. Post-traumatic—"

"I know what PTSD is," she said with a wry smile. "My dad made me go, too."

"Okay then." He pulled the tea bag out of her mug when she made no move to do it herself. She hated bitter, over-steeped tea. "I guess you also know there's not really a cure. You just gotta manage the symptoms best you can."

"None of that really answers my question, Ortiz."

He ducked his head and rubbed a hand over his big gold MC rings. "I think it does, Liv," he mumbled after a while. Their eyes met, and she nodded understanding.

"So how do you do it? The violent shit? The bloody work?"

"There's not a whole lot of that. Not really. And I'm pretty low on the totem pole, so usually it's like Tig or Chibs who handle that sorta thing."

A silence fell. Finally Olivia said, "I took some pretty strong pain killers."

"Ah," he said. "How many?"

"Just two, but—"

"You're pint size."

She flashed him a brief glare, but he just grinned. "Have you eaten?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

"Okay." He went quiet again. Then, "Your shirt's on inside out."

She looked down with a frown. "I didn't notice."

"Yeah, I figured. Whoa!"

She had it halfway over her head (to fix it), and at his exclamation she pulled it off the rest of the way and blinked at him. "What?"

"Jesus, Olivia, put your clothes back on!"

Her expression was genuinely puzzled, and the shirt lay forgotten across her lap. Juice reached to help her. The bruises along her side made him wince, but he tried not to notice the hickeys on her chest.

"You gotta put your clothes on, babe," he said, gently. "Lift your arms." She did so like a doll, obedient and silent, and he got it settled on her shoulders. "There. Better, right?"

"Okay," she said.

Sighing, he took her hands in his and rubbed them, his touch easy and warm, her fingers like ice. "Maybe you should talk to someone, Liv. A shrink."

"Tara sent you here so I could talk to you."

"That's right, but I'm just—" He broke off with a shrug.

"She was right." She reached up to touch his face, the brush of butterfly wings. "She sent the right person."

"You wanna tell me?"

This time the silence stretched so long he thought she might not speak again. Finally she did, and she told him everything. Even more than she'd told Opie. For him she'd left out anything about TJ or flashbacks, but Juice knew. She could tell Juice.

"Christ, Liv," he said when she was finally through. He handed her the cold mug of tea and she sipped with a grimace. "I knew that guy was unstable, but this? He would've killed both of you."

"I know. That's what I said to Tara, but…she wanted to call Jax instead of Hale."

"Can you blame her? After the shit you went through when we were kids? And he's a Fed. That ain't nothin'."

"I know," she said again. She buried her face in her hands and sat like that, unmoving and tense, for several minutes. "I'm so tired, Juicy."

He lifted a hand and let it hover above her shoulder. When she still didn't move, he let it fall, lightly, and squeezed. "Have you eaten today?" he said, again.

"I told you I'm not hungry," she said, her voice muffled by her palms.

"Lemme make you a fresh cup of tea and—" He broke off with a quirking smile. "A grilled cheese sandwich."

It was what they used to make together all the time when they were kids. Olivia had never been able to cook, but she could manage grilled cheese. When she looked up he could tell by her expression she remembered, and the memory had done some good.

Juice brushed a lock of hair off her face. "You're the strongest person I ever met, Liv. You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not sayin' it's gonna be easy, but…" He shrugged. "It'll happen."

Her bright eyes studied his face, a look so deep and probing he wanted to squirm. "Juan Carlos—"

"How 'bout that sandwich, huh? I'm starvin'."

"Juice," she said as he pushed himself to his feet. "Sit down, please." She grabbed him by the hand and tugged him down again. "There's something we need to talk about."

"I should feed you first," he said, uneasily. He didn't like the look on her face, the quiet intensity of it. Whatever she wanted to talk about wasn't going to make him happy, and he'd had enough blows for one day.

"Food can wait. Please, just…" She looked away. "Opie and I had a long talk last night. About—us. Him and me, I mean. Our future."

"Ah," he said. He'd been right. He shifted and scrubbed a hand over his mouth, ducking his head so he couldn't see her face. And she couldn't see his. "Did you, uh—" He had to break off and clear his throat. "Any conclusions?"

She touched his knee so that he would look at her. "He's leaving the club, Juice. Patching out. Jax asked him to wait until Abel is ready to come home, and he said he would. After that, though…" She lifted a hand and didn't bother finishing the thought.

Juice stared at her, uncomprehending. Opie was leaving SAMCRO? How could that—Opie was going to be Jax' VP when Jax took Clay's place. It was—it was practically gospel. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing happened. His mouth was parched, throat tight, tongue swollen. He swiped for Olivia's forgotten tea, but instead of grabbing it he just hit the mug. It tumbled to the floor and they both stared at the mint-scented puddle in consternation.

"I'll get—" he said.

"No, it's—" she said at the same time.

They both surged to their feet, and in their dismay and confusion somehow ended up tangled in each other: her leg between his feet, his hands grabbing so she didn't fall, then lurching away when she hissed in pain. They went down, a jumble of limbs and clothes and cursing. He managed to cushion her fall so that she landed on him rather than the floor, and he felt cold tea soak into the back of his shirt. He rolled, still cradling her, and now her back was against the sofa, and he had her sort of pinned there.

"You're leaving Charming," he said, breathless from the fall and—everything else.

"I didn't say that."

"Didn't have to. The club's the only thing keeping you here. Ope in the club."

"That's not true. There's Tara. Donna. Jax and Piney and Opie's mom. Other—people." She wouldn't meet his eyes, and when she tried to move he wouldn't let her. "Juice! We're on the goddamn floor!"

"I noticed. Olivia—"

"He's doing this for me, Juice. He's leaving because it's violent and dangerous and he doesn't want to end up in jail again. Or worse."

"Of course he's leaving for you," he said as though he never doubted it. "He'd do anything for you. Leave the MC, leave Charming, fly to the fucking moon."

Something about his tone made her think he wasn't talking about Opie. Or, at least, not _just_ Opie. She shoved him away and struggled to sit up. When he offered to help she ignored him, and finally she sat propped against the couch, her hair tumbled everywhere and the big shirt twisted around her like a shroud. There was color in her cheeks now, and her eyes snapped with temper. He scrambled to his knees opposite her. They stared at each other like gunfighters.

"You don't have any right, Juan Carlos. None at all!" she said in a shaking voice.

"I know that! Fuck, Olivia, you think I don't know that? If I could stop lovin' you I would. It's tearin' me up inside. I've got a _good_ woman, Liv. She's smart and gorgeous and she makes me laugh." He paused to scrape his hands over his face and the curve of his skull. "But she ain't _you_! She'll never be you. I know I blew it. I know I had my chance when you came back to town, and I acted like a fuckin' asshole instead. I just thought—I guess I always thought…"

"You thought there'd be time," she said.

He raised his palms before he let them fall to his thighs. "Yeah, Liv. I guess I did."

Her mouth quirked in a bitter moue and she dipped her head to study a pattern of freckles on her thigh. "I thought the same thing. When I left you that morning. When I stayed in Portland long after I knew it was time to pack my bags." She looked up at him. "When I got back here. But there wasn't, Juice. Not for either of us. I blew it for both of us."

"No, babe, no—"

"If I'd told you about Ben, you never would've acted the way you did when I moved back."

He gave a quick jerk of his chin. "I'm an adult, Olivia. A grown ass man. I know how to act. I chose to behave like a spoiled kid. That ain't on you. It's on _me_." He reached for her, his big hands closing gently around her upper arms. "Opie's who you want. I know that. I know he makes you happy and makes you feel safe, and that's what matters to me.

"But, Olivia, I'm gonna love you till the day I die. Nothin's gonna change that. I'm gonna love you, and you're gonna love me, and all the Opies and Yvonnes in the world ain't gonna make a damn bit of difference."

"I loved you so much, Juan Carlos," she said, tears once again spilling down her cheeks. "I loved you so much and you were so goddamn _mean_ to me. Then Opie was there. He's always been there. He always will be. He's—he's my _always_, Juice. You're my—"

"Almost?" he said, hoarsely.

"No. God, babe, no. I don't think there's a word for it, but it sure as hell isn't _almost_."

His hands slid up to curl in her hair, and their foreheads tipped so that they met.

"You've got to try, Juicy. Try to love her. Or if not her, someone else. We can't keep hurting people, or ourselves. She can't be your Ben."

"You're so deep in me, Olivia," he said. "So fucking deep. I don't think I can get you out."

"I know. You think I don't know? Of course I do. I love Opie so much. I want a life with him. But you're always _there_. The sound of your voice and the way you smile when you're so _happy_. Your laugh and your touch and your scent. All of it."

She scooted closer to wrap her arms around his middle. His body was warm and familiar and comfortable against hers; she melted into him and he cradled her like she might disappear. He shifted and fell back against the sofa, then pulled her close so that she was draped across his lap. She gathered handfuls of his shirt and he stroked her hair.

"People change," he murmured.

"They do. We've both changed."

He gave a low, humorless laugh. "But here we still are. Butting up against each other like—like bumper cars."

"Both too stubborn for our own good," she said with a tiny smile. She pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point in his throat. "Do you think maybe it's time to stop?"

"Don't know how. Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we stayed—"

"Away from each other. Yeah. We tried that. Remember?"

"Mmm. Ended up fucking all night and getting into a huge screaming match the next morning."

"Or, more recently, dancin' around each other like idiots until everyone was ready to knock our heads together."

She settled against him more comfortably. Minutes ticked past and her breathing fell into line with his. His heart beat beneath her cheek and she thought of Opie.

"Juice—"

"I know," he said. He kissed the top of her head and let her go. She pushed to her feet and offered him a hand, which he accepted with a snort. They stood watching each other, and after a moment he brushed his thumb against the soft curve of her cheek. "I'll always love you. No matter what."

"I know," she murmured in echo. "I'll always love you too, Juan Carlos. The whole of my life."

"Just be happy, Liv. That's all I want for you."

"I will if you will."

"I'm tryin'. But you know me."

"I do." She smiled and poked his shoulder. "You've got potential, kid. Don't let the man get you down."

"Damn the man," he said with a grin.

She cupped his face in her hands and went up on tiptoes to kiss him, her mouth soft and sweet and loving. "Come on, Ortiz. You owe me a grilled cheese."

"Go call Opie," he said. "Let him know you're okay. I'll hit the kitchen."

After a brief pause she nodded. "Thank you, Juice. For coming today."

He hitched a shoulder and offered a sheepish smile. "You needed me, Liv."

"Yeah," she said, softly, "I really did."

They watched each other a bit longer, his eyes dark and deep, hers bright and sad. As she studied him she felt the jagged tear in her heart knit closed. Not neatly. Not perfectly. The stitches were crooked and sloppy and painful, but they were there. She could love Opie, love him the way they both deserved, and still love Juice in a hazy, soft way, like a chalk drawing left in the rain.

He smiled like he could read her mind, and she could see her own thoughts reflected in his face.

She gave his hand one last squeeze and they both turned away.

* * *

_I'm getting a little blogged down to matching this story's timeline to canon, and like. I really just want to let that go and write, but I'm STRUGGLING. It's an au. It's not SUPPOSED to match canon._

_Sometimes I miss the forest for the trees tbh._


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